Dragon Age Inquisition Origin
by ObsG
Summary: Back story of human female Inquisitor. Alaryn Trevelyan
1. Chapter 1

Words of note

Wintersend - end of winter. A major holiday observed by many lands.

Markham - a city of culture in the Free Marches, north of Ostwick. Home to one of the largest universities in Thedas.

* * *

 **Chapter I**

 **9.30 Dragon, Late Spring, Barviel Reach**

It was hot in the barracks. In spite of the opened windows, the occasional woody tinged breeze that wafted by hardly cool the hall filled with warm bodies. Sweat rolled down Alaryn's forehead, dripping into her eyes as she bent to dip the large coarse brush into the bucket of vinegar at her feet and fling the liquid at the grey green coated wooden wall before her. Back and forth went the brush as rivulets of dirty grey ran down, leaving behind dark soaked wood.

Along the hall, several soldiers were similarly engaged in scouring the barracks clean. The monotony of the chore was relieved by Rhius. His baritone voice rendering song after song as he cleaned the floor near the stairs. Calls and whistles rang out when he started on another.

 _.. my lady stands o'wer it to it and to it up and down, up and down nary a cry to fill ..._

The song and noise stopped abruptly with several muffled thuds. She paid no heed to the silence as she shoved the bucket with her foot over to a new section of wall waiting to be scrubbed. "By the Maker, Alaryn!" The familiar outraged feminine voice hardly gave her pause as she bent to dip her brush in the bucket.

"It's wet and dirty here, mother." She wiped at her sweaty forehead with the rolled up left sleeve of her tunic as she scrubbed unceasingly with her right hand.

"I can see that," Lady Moira Trevelyan said icily. "I can also see that you have not done what I have asked of you."

"Mother, I distinctly remember saying I'm not attending..."

"Friesa has already packed all the things you need. If you do not, in this instant, return to your room and change, you will regret it."

Alaryn finally turned to look at Lady Trevelyan. "I will not." She resisted the temptation of raising her voice. Her blue eyes sparkling with anger, held steady under Moira's equally furious green orbs.

"Your father will see to ..," began Lady Trevelyan.

"Don't make it difficult for me to call myself a Trevelyan, mother."

Moira turned red, then white. "How dare you..," her voice trembled in disbelief. "How dare you make such threats in the face of deep affections I hold for my flesh and blood. Such willful and disloyal conduct only goes to prove that you cannot..."

Biting back an angry sigh as Lady Trevelyan launched into a litany oft repeated in the last several weeks, Ryn turned back to her scrubbing, knowing how Moira would look; the white turning into the crimson flush of deep fury. If she could, her mother would have grabbed her and turned her around to face her but for the sweat and dirt streaming off her that would besmirch the fine clothing she had put on. Silently, she counted. It would not take long for Moira to brandish the old club.

"Your father will hear of this," snapped Moira when she realised her youngest was not listening to her.

"Should have run at first light," Ryn muttered under her breath as Lady Trevelyan walked gingerly away, fingers holding the hem of her dress just so from the dirty waters swirling underfoot. The soldiers who had stood steadfast when Lady Trevelyan appeared, remained as still as statues until the sound of hoofs could be heard clopping away. None of them so much as turned an eye on Ryn as they returned to their chores.

Rhius hummed softly before launching into a well favoured song, The Deeds of Calenhad, and was soon joined by the rest. It was their way of showing sympathy and support for they could not publicly acknowledge they had been privy to a scene not meant to be shared. They meant well but she wished it didn't have to happen. It would not if she had taken herself off to the farthest freeholder tract.

That thought of running off had lasted all of the last dark and a candle mark that morning before she had decided to carry on with her plans of the day. Or at least the schedule she had always held to. The brush went up and down several arm span before it dropped to her side as she regarded the half washed wall blankly. There was no point in continuing. Her mother would go to her father and he would always summon her. Not that he would give her a hard time, more often than not, it was to placate Moira.

With a sigh, she dropped the brush back into the bucket, turned and headed for the stairs. The song did not cease as she went downstairs. There were more soldiers cleaning the ground floor. They murmured greetings as she passed by. Out in the training ground, pallets were stacked high beside white, grey and brown sheets pegged to long lines stretched across the wide space, fluttered in the cool breeze. Clumps of soldiers bent to and fro over large tubs of clean water, wringing out more washed sheets and putting them up to dry.

In between the bellowing and flapping sheets, she spied a familiar tall figure in the distance, coming from the Keep. With that head of silvery white hair, it could only be Krizo. Dipping her arms deep into the nearest tub, she washed off her vinegar smelling hands as best she could before heading towards the Keep, flicking off water as she went.

"My Lady." Krizo bowed when she reached him.

"Let's not keep him waiting." She swept past him without waiting to hear his message. It was always the same anyway.

Biting back a sigh as he regarded the stiffly held back, Krizo followed. "He is really not at his best," he warned. "My Lady...Ryn," he added when she marched on. "Go easy on him," he said when she turned to face him. "He's got a lot of things on his mind."

"Bickering with old skinny over freeholders again?" she rolled her eyes. Her father's feud with Bann Justard Kordin had been as flighty as the seasonal winds, blowing this way and that as they compete for the fealty of freeholders. It had been that way as long as she could remember, the constant tug of war among the bannorns stretching back centuries and no end in sight. There never would be and she was fortunate it would never be handed down to her. She only had to deal with the usual expectations of being the last in the pecking order.

"It's not just Justard, Ryn. Something else is brewing," Krizo said grimly.

Alaryn waited. "What?" she demanded when Krizo did not elaborate. "Does it have anything to do with aunt Lucile's seasonal cattle auction?"

"You should have followed your mother."

She stared at him in amazement. Krizo had been her father's weapons master long before her oldest brother was born. He had trained every single one of her siblings, including herself when she was old enough to hold something properly in her fist. He knew every one of them and he knew very well her aversion to the matchmaking game her mother indulged in. That he would think she'd be better off tied down in a nauseating soiree was jarring. Why did he think it so?

"What is it, Krizo. Just throw it out," she said, using her hand to circle the air impatiently. "Stop wavering around." A thought struck her. "Wait, has my mother gone on to Markham?"

At his nod, she felt even more baffled. "Lady Verene and young Dern have followed your lady mother," he added.

She had thought the trip had been organised for the sole purpose of finding her a suitable husband. But if her mother had continued on to Markham without her, along with her brother's wife and son, then it must have been at her father's insistence. Why? Krizo didn't look like he was going to tell her exactly what was going on so she resumed her march back to the Keep. As she crossed the drawbridge, her nose wrinkled from the pungent sting of astringent powders the servants were carrying from the outer bailey in large baskets to sprinkle and stir into the moat. The smell that always marked the beginning of spring.

The gatehouse guards must have read Krizo's dour mood for they saluted stiffly instead of throwing out greetings as they usually would. Horses neighed and stamped on the dusty ground of the outer bailey, tails flicking away tiny insects as stablehands cleaned out their stalls thoroughly, rakes and brooms busily removing sodden dirty hay and dung. Under the watchful eye of the stablemaster, none looked up as she crossed the yard. The swishing of brooms was drowned out by the clash of steel from the nearby practice ground. At any other time, she would have joined the soldiers at the practice rings and watch them go through their paces. The veterans often had interesting counsel and tales to offer but not today.

The portcullis of the inner wall was drawn up. The inner bailey was much more quiet, with less chaff and dust in the air. Patches of bright colour here and there beckoned from the surrounding gardens, a stark contrast to the grey walls of the Keep. Dust tickled her nose as she passed through the opened main door. She sneezed as a cloud of dust rose into the air as servants on ladders took down the banners from the walls of the main hall. The sight only increased the roiling confusion within. For as long as she could remember, the banners had never been removed. Why was her father having them taken down?

Down a smaller adjacent hallway she went until she came to the door of her father's study. Glancing briefly at Krizo over her shoulder, she took a deep breath and knocked. Opening the door to her father's command to enter, her eyes darted swiftly around the room. Nothing looked out of place. Her father was seated as usual at his desk, the top almost overflowing with parchments and scrolls. Specks of silver in his hair glinted in the glow of the candle stands in spite of the light streaming from the windows. Krizo closed the door behind him and stood by it.

"Ryn." Bann Varal Trevelyan frowned at his youngest daughter, not the lest surprised by her dirty and untidy attire.

"I am not going to aunt Lucille's auc...soiree," Ryn said firmly.

Varal only looked down at the papers before him, as if he didn't hear her declaration of rebellion. "You are certain you do not want to do that," he said after a while as she waited.

"Yes."

"A assertion out of the fog of ado," he shook his head. "As bright as the spark of unforge steel."

"Father?" Alaryn said uncertainly. What was he talking about?

"You are sixteen winters but you have yet to declare for a desired role." He frowned at her.

A question she had been dreading to hear from him again. "Father," she hesitated before the sudden swelling in her throat could prevent her speaking. "I've not changed my mind. I have no wish to serve the Chantry."

"That wasn't what you said over the last three winters." He leaned back in his chair. "You said you do not know, you needed time to think about it. Krizo suggested joining a noble house in either Orleis or Ferelden since he has determined you have the skills to be a knight and your answer was the same."

"Are you asking me to decide now?"

"For how long can you stay in my house, Ryn?" he said gently. "I will not deny you for you are my daughter but neither is it fitting that a father should remain silent when a pair of hands can be lifted to better purpose. And I do not mean puttering at the barracks or wandering among the freeholders."

Alaryn stared down at her boots before meeting Varal's questioning gaze. Was that a glint of disappointment? It hurt her to see that in his eyes than any harsh words her mother had meted out over the years.

"Father, I really do not know," she confessed unhappily. "I tried but my heart can find no mark to settle on. I feel as if it is not the time."

"Time for what?"

"I honestly do not know. I read books, I did research, I talked to the soldiers, Mother Harevis, every one," Alaryn shook her head helplessly. "I don't know what I want." Not to marry certainly or be a lay sister or a soldier or a Templar in the Chantry but she needn't repeat that; he knew how she felt about them.

Varal sighed softly as he gazed at Ryn. She had inherited his looks; red hair, the lean cast of face and firm chin though softened by her youth. She had her mother's eyes though blue like his and slightly deep set. Unlike her mother however, she preferred to be out practising her swordplay and riding. Lean with wiry strength, she towered over her diminutive mother who had not been pleased that she had not been able to turn her into the soft sweet beauty some houses raised their daughters to be, perpetually concerned with their appearance and fashion, the next soiree, the food and dainties they would have. Moira was no true Marcher. After so many years, he did not think she would ever discard the ostentatious Orlesian customs and attitude she had imbibed since birth.

Tradition demanded that he stamped his authority to have the youngest carry out the duty expected of every generation but it was a bitter dose he would far prefer not to force on this daughter of his. The Maker knew he had seen how it had destroyed someone he loved and he would not have it happen to his children.

"You'll have the time you need. I'm sending you to your uncle Tarsus. You will sojourn there, learn from your uncle on matters of estate until after Wintersend."

Her brows drew together. "I don't understand."

"A detachment of soldiers will go with you..."

"Are you banishing me?" she said in disbelief. Uncle Tarsus was custodian of ancestral lands bordering the farthest freedolder beholden to House Trevelyan. Several days' journey at the most. It was not like her uncle was a harsh man. It was the opposite. He had spoken softly and kindly to her when Moira had brought her to Skanvar, but he seemed distracted. She was eight winters then.

After they left, Moira had told her never to speak of her uncle when she asked about him and she never knew why. He hardly visited the Keep either although despatches and the tithe from the freeholders arrived annually. Once she had asked her father about her uncle's absence, even on important occasions when distant relatives would be invited, but he had declined to explain, she remembered. It was as if her uncle Tarsus was a pariah. To be sent there. Was her father obliquely using her uncle as an example?

"Banish?" Varal stared at her.

"Uncle Tarsus can find no favour within this Keep, can he?"

"Because he has never shown his face here all these years?" Varal understood her apprehension. "It is not what you think."

"Is it because of mother?"

He shifted the papers before him, as if debating how he should answer her. "It does not concern you," he said finally. "There is a new development in Ferelden."

"Ferelden?" She stared at him in confusion. What did Ferrelden have to do with her being sent to the farthest reach of Trevelyan holdings?

"There have been numerous outbreaks of darkspawn in the Kocari Wilds."

Her eyes widened in disbelief. Darkspawn? All at once, the tales and descriptions of those horrifying creatures crowded in on her. Surely her father jest? All of a sudden, the sending of her mother, her elder brother's wife and son to safety at Markham made sense. It could only be that and no other.

"The numbers have been steadily increasing over the last week and there are fears that it's the prelude to a Blight," he continued. "King Cailan has marched with his army to Ostagar to counter the threat but there are fears that he may fail. If he does fall, the darkspawn will spread. The Grey Wardens in Orleis may prevent it from spreading west but there is nothing to halt it moving north..," he paused when she made an involuntarily gesture to stop him.

"Do...do they swim?" she asked nervously. "Where would darkspawn learn to handle a boat?"

"Swim?" His brows shot up. "Swim when there're roads underground?"

She felt foolish at once for forgetting the history of the Blight.

"I do know that if King Cailan should fall, his people will flee," her father continued when she remained silent. "Orleis will watch her borders and so must we. Refugees will come north, they will bring chaos and trouble with them."

"Are we to turn them back?" Alaryn tried to imagine what it would be like, a war with darkspawn, and could only conjure up the frightening and heroic tales she had read in books.

"Your uncle will assess the situation if they should cross his lands. Give him this letter." He held out a sealed parchment to her which she took. "Pack whatever you need, you leave at dawn the morrow."

"Why are you sending me?"

"Because it is time for the fledgling to try her wings." He did a little flick with his fingers, indicating that she should go out. Recognising that her father would not discuss it further, she left the room silently with Krizo at her heels.

"He's sending me out there," Alaryn muttered as she stood outside, her eyes lifting in bewilderment and fear to Krizo as she tried to sort out the news. "Alone, out there?"

Taking her by arm, Krizo steered her to the flight of stairs leading to the family's private quarters. "You're not going alone and you won't be alone."

"Who..soldiers, he's sending soldiers." She rubbed her brow and realised she was feeling cold. "I...I supposed he wants to strengthen the garrison at the old Keep."

"And protect the borders. If refugees do come ashore, they're an additional burden."

"Why?" She nearly fell on the stairs and wondered what was wrong with her but his hand at her elbow held her steady.

"They'll run out of food and they'll have no shelter. If they can find none of either, what do you think they'll do?" They came to a halt outside her room. "You've got a shock, why don't you pack what you need and rest? You'll feel better in the evening."

Not having gone away for any length of time by herself, Alaryn had no idea what to bring. "What shall I pack?"

"What any soldier would bring." He saw her bemused stare. "Your heard your father, this is not a pleasure trip and you've heard enough from the old grunts to know what to pack. If you have any other questions, I'm always free to answer them."

Opening the door, he waited till she had stepped inside before closing it. She could hear the shuffle of his boots going away and tried to move but couldn't. It was as if she was frozen to the spot. In her mind, she imagined darkspawn rampaging through the land and the Keep. She stared at her room, imagining it cast into ruin and shambles. How long she stood there, staring into the air she had no idea. The unexpected call at the door startled her. She yelped when it opened and slammed into her back, propelling her forward.

"Oh my Lady, I'm sorry. Are you hurt?" asked the maid at the doorway, eyes wide in alarm.

"It's all right, Friesa. You didn't know I was there." Alaryn waved away the apology. The knock had shaken her out of her daze. She was feeling somewhat calmer and foolish for her terror. Darkspawn would not know how to sail across the Waking Sea, they always came through the tunnels they dug from underground.

"Krizo said you want to wash up so I brought water." Friesa waved to the servants behind her. They trooped into the room with buckets of warm water and filled the bathtub by the fireplace. They left once it was done. Friesa closed the door behind them and went to the wardrobe. "I heard you're going to Skanvar Keep."

"Krizo told you, I supposed." Alaryn tested the water in the tub. Not too hot. Pulling at the fastenings of her clothing, she stripped, tossing the dirty clothes near the fireplace. With a large washcloth, she wet it and scrubbed soap all over herself.

"Will there be parties at the Keep?"

Alaryn looked over to see Friesa holding out a few dresses and shuddered. "Maker, I've yet to hear a whisper of any brilliant parties at the Keep and I hope there isn't any. Just throw in the tunics, trews and the like." Loosening the braid of her hair, she dipped her head into the water and worked the soap into it. The maid opened her mouth and then closed it. It was too late to object to the soap. Knowing her mistress, she wouldn't bother very much what she was using to wash her hair.

"Help me with this," Alaryn said as she held her dripping hair over a bucket.

"Close your eyes." Scooping up water from the bathtub, Friesa helped her washed the suds off. "What do you suppose it'll be like?"

"The Keep? Cold." Alaryn wiped water from her eyes. "I was there once years ago, in summer. It wasn't so bad during the day but at night." She shivered as she wiped off the soap from her body. "It's a really old Keep, dating back to the age of Divine. There're no fireplaces except the kitchen." She sighed as she settled in the bathtub. "It's also much smaller. The garden is nice though." There were small animals in a fenced off corner, she remembered. Rabbits and fowls. She looked over to see how Friesa was doing with the packing and was astonished to see her putting the clothes into the travelling chest. "No, not the chest. Put them in saddlebags."

"No chest?" Friesa stared at her in confusion.

"It's not a pleasure trip. I don't need more than a few sets of clothing. Oh, and I'm taking that pair of old boots too."

"If you're sure...," Friesa said uncertainly as she moved to the storage chest where the saddlebags were kept.

Alaryn nodded, spread her hair over the back of the tub to dry and settled deeper into the water as she mentally ticked off what she would have to put into her kit bag. Would she need money? There wasn't much left from the last trip to aunt Lucille's where she had spent most of it buying a Orlesian glass curio and a new dagger at the market. She'd better bring them, she decided since there might be an occasion where she might need them.

Her mind wandered. This journey would be different from the ones she took with her mother. Where would she spend her nights? Would it at a freeholder's home or would she be camped out in the open? A shiver passed through as she recalled some of the tales the guards had told; she did not want insects crawling into every orifice or worst, have spirits come a calling in her sleep. A hand touched her shoulder and she jumped.

"My Lady, the water is cold," Friesa smiled in apology.

Alaryn realised she was right. Climbing out of the tub, she dried off and dressed before sitting patiently for Friesa to comb and braid her dry hair, wishing she could cut it short. That would give her mother another item to grumble over so she had not cut it. If it had been fine and soft, she wouldn't have minded it so much but it was thick and slightly coarse. The braiding done, Friesa gathered up the dirty clothing and left the room to summon the servants to take out the tub. Alaryn looked through the saddlebags piled on the clothes chest as the tub was carried away. There was nothing she could think of to add so she lay down on her bed.

This would be the first time she would be on her own. She could do whatever she wanted except that now that the chance had come, she was not certain how she felt about it. It was all very well to dream about the tales she read, quite another to set out to do them. But then, they were just tales. What could possibly happen? The journey would be dry and dull. King Cailan would halt the darkspawn. How could he not? She could look forward to running errands for her uncle, mired in a boring cycle of duty. What a thrill. She snorted. A little worn out by her cleaning efforts at the barracks, her eyes drooped and she fell asleep without realising it.

 _Darkness. Wetness. A terrible stench that seared the lungs. A screeching sound. Was that a gleam of teeth in the mist? Black pitted armor, a grinning skull. What was that sound? Run, she had to run. Run._

Her eyes snapped open. For a moment, she stared wildly at the ceiling above her before realising she was in her room. She felt breathless as if she was running. Did she fall asleep? She sat up and rubbed her eyes, her fingers coming away wet. Was she sweating? She must have been having a bad dream but she couldn't remember what it was except it was all dark, dank, oddly humid and fetid. Like food gone rotten or something. From the light filtering through the shutters of the windows, it must be near evening. She had slept the afternoon away. Shaking her head to clear it, she pulled on her boots and left the room.

The door of her father's study room was still closed and she could hear voices within. She went to the main hall and saw all the banners had been taken down. Without the colourful banners, the hall looked drab and empty. She shivered and made her way to the library. At this time of the day, master Burek would be resting in his room so she had the place to herself. It took some time to look for the book she wanted, standing in a lonely corner of the farthest shelf. Sitting down at a desk, she blew off the thin layer of dust on the old tome. It had been years since she last touched the book and it seemed no one else had bothered with it. But then why would any one be interested in darkspawn? It had been almost five hundred years since the last Blight.

The few pictures were just as she remembered it. A few bland strokes that formed imagery of ghouls and darkspawn. The tome itself was little more than a dry historical account of the Blights, the battles and the names of those notable warriors who fought to repel the horde. There were other books that celebrated the struggle, the flair of heroes and horrors of the darkspawn with more imaginative paintings and tales. If she were to encounter darkspawn, she would far prefer not to be cut off at the knees by her own fancies.

The Grey Wardens particularly captured her imagination. Flying on gryphons and swooping down on the enemy out of the sky. What was it like? To fly so high in the sky and smite bravely down on the horde? It must have been exciting. She turned the pages, as captivated by the accounts as before when she was much younger that she didn't hear the knock on the door. She jumped with fright when a hand clapped down hard on her shoulder.

"Feric!" She glared at her eldest brother.

"What're you reading that has closed your ears?" Feric Trevelyan grinned at her fright. "Ah-," his brows rose when he caught sight of the page she was reading. "Catching up on some dark reading."

"It's not a jesting matter..."

"No, indeed." He sat down across from her.

"Then you think they will invade the Free Marches..."

"If the Ferelden King should fall, they will first spread over Ferelden, then Orleis before heading north. But that is not for certain. They have taken and held the Deep Roads for hundreds of years, it is hard to say with full confidence that that is the order they will infest the land. Whatever it is, do you think the rest of us will stand idly by while this happens?"

It was a relief to hear that. "I was imagining too many things. Father must think poorly of me for my foolish questions," she admitted. "But do you supposed he is taking the far view of the worst that can happen?"

"Why? Did he say something?"

"All the banners have been taken down in the hall, mother headed up to Markham without me and you know she was very insistent that I attend aunt Lucille's party..," she caught the slight grimace around Feric's lips. "Do you know something?"

"The banners have nothing to do with the problems at Ferelden. Mother left instructions that they're to be taken out and aired. Did you forget the incident of the spiders?" he reminded with a grin.

"Oh."

"It's not just the darkspawn horde, Ryn." Feric rubbed his trimmed beard uneasily. "Irregardless of what happens at Ferelden, there will be frightened people eager to get away. Most will head to Denerim but there will be others who will want to flee even further. Likely head to Kirkwall and Ostwick. City authorities will sort them out but there'll be those who will randomly land along the coast and they are the problem. Unchecked, they will eventually breed into a bigger problem. Chaos and worst of all, if any of them is tainted, it will spread.

The taint. She looked down at the book before her. There in a passage of the opened page, it was written that a tainted person, wounded by the dark weapons and blood of a darkspawn, would eventually turned into a ghoul. "How do you tell if a person is infected?"

"In such times," he shrugged, "you can't. If the person appears sick, then he cannot be allowed to live."

She stared at him in shock. "But if it's only a small cut or a fever or..."

"Ryn." Feric sat forward, looking at her steadily in the eye. "There is no cure for the taint. It's stated right there, in the tome. I read it, you read it. Death is an act of mercy, trust me."

"How can you be so certain?" she demanded.

"Because a Grey Warden told me so."

"A Grey Warden? You met a grey warden?" Her eyes went round. "When? Why didn't you say anything?"

"Let's see." He rubbed his nose, pretending to think. When she pretended to swipe at him, he ducked. "I was squiring with Bann Eremon of Waking Sea when a warden came visiting. His name was Duncan."

"And?" she prodded impatiently when he halted. "Why was he there? Was he recruiting?"

"He wasn't..."

From the regret that flashed across his face, she thought she knew why. "You wanted to be a grey warden, didn't you?"

"So I did and I think you do as well," he laughed when she made a face at being caught out. "Does father know about this inclination? He would not prevent you if you have such desire."

"Because I'm the youngest," she muttered. "You know you can't because you're the oldest."

"I'm not certain about that," he said glumly. "If Duncan had offered, I would take it. Drissen can take over," he sighed. "But Duncan was just making a stop over on his way to Denerim. He told me some tales of his journey into the Deep Roads, how he fought the darkspawn and the dangers they bring with them. He watched his friends and comrades died fighting them. He said wardens have the honor and mercy of fighting and dying on their feet before the corruption take them but the others would have to suffer and die in the worst ways possible because they could not face their fears. I saw the truth in his eyes, Ryn. I do not doubt him."

The room seemed to darken. "Why is father sending me to uncle Tarsus if he thinks refugees will arrive from the south?"

"You know why. You did not want to go to Markham with mother," Feric reminded her gently. "You tipped the boat, Ryn. Now you have to see if you can swim."

"What if I fail?"

Feric smiled and reached for her hands resting on the tome. "There is no failure, Ryn. You can't decide where you can ride to because you have not tried riding anywhere. This is the time for you to taste the world out there, by yourself and decide where you truly wish to go. It may take a few falls but believe me, you will know what it is you want." He turned when someone knocked one the door. "Enter."

A servant came in. "Dinner is ready, my lord, my lady. Lord Trevelyan is on his way."

"We'll be right there." The servant bowed and went out. "Come, Ryn. Let's not be tardy." He waited as she returned the tome to its place. "Do you know, you might decide to be a grey warden after all."

"I wouldn't."

"Why not?"

"Because they don't have gryphons any more and please don't tell me you never dreamt about being a hero swooping out of the sky." She tapped his nose playfully as she passed him, hearing his chuckle as he followed her to the main hall.


	2. Chapter 2

**Chapter II**

 **9.30 Dragon, Late Spring, Barviel Reach**

Opening her eyes to darkness, Alaryn stared into it, still in the coils of sleep. The crow of the roosters in the kitchen yard cut through the silent air. With that, she remembered what was to happen. She got up and lit the candles on the nightstand. Picking up the saddlebags stacked at the foot of the nightstand, she dumped them on the bed. Tilted off balanced by the unexpected events yesterday, she did not think of checking what Friesa had packed.

It was a mistake she was going to rectify. She went through the saddlebags one by one. With a sigh and a wry twist of her lips, she removed ornate combs, pins, a small bottle of perfume rolled up in a tunic and the few gowns she owned. Did Friesa think she was going to waste time on such frivolities? After six years, the maid should have known better.

 _I should not be so captious. Friesa is in a different position with her heart set on a different summit than mine._

Going to her clothes chest, she removed all the summer and winter tunics and trousers she had, added them to the pile on the bed before squaring them away into tight bundles. A pair of soft half-boots was added to an old pair of leather boots and rolled in an old blanket. A couple of washtowels, a plain comb, a brick of soap, armor repair kit, a small pouch of herbs and a couple of books went into another saddlebag. You might be just venturing out to a city but you could never predict what would happen along the way. Better to prepare than to find your life on the edge of a knife because of that lack, Krizo had said in one of his lectures.

She would pick up a coil of rope from the quarter master at the barracks. Was there anything else? Her eyes fell on the lute beside her bed. For a moment, she debated and then decided against bringing it. She could always borrow one at the old Keep. The weak light creeping through the window shutters warned her she had better hurry.

Pouring water into the basin by the fireplace, she stripped and wiped herself down, shivering from the cold water, before donning fresh clothing. Going over to the armor stand beside the wardrobe, she strapped on the gambeson, leather corselet, vembrace and greaves. She checked the pouches on the sword belt and shook out the debris in them before folding in the letter for her uncle, a small wad of parchments, a stick of charcoal, eating knife and spoon. Half of the coins she had went into the money pouch while the rest, she shoved into one of the saddlebags. She regarded the bulging saddlebags uneasily. Had she packed too much? But then she was going away for months. Surely she would need the items. She should check with Krizo.

Buckling on the sword belt, she checked her sword before slipping it into the holder. Crossing over to her writing table, she picked up the new dagger. The Trevelyan crest gleamed on the pommel-nut like a newly forged coin. Just as she slipped it into the empty dagger sheath at the side of her belt, someone knocked softly on the door. "My lady?" came Friesa's muffled query.

"Come." Ryn picked up the kite shield leaning against the armor stand and slung it over her shoulder as the maid came into the room with a servant. She brought down the bow and the quiver of arrows hanging from the hooks on the wall. Stringing the bow deftly, she drew it. Satisfied that it was sound, she removed the string and looked around her room again to see if she had missed anything. She picked up the cloak and her helm on top of the clothes chest and blew out the candles before following Friesa and the servant, loaded with the saddlebags, downstairs. Shadows danced in the corridors, held in thrall of the wall rushes and candles.

The inner bailey was a bustling hive of activity as servants, soldiers and stablehands moved to and fro, loading carts and packhorses with supplies and packs. The Keep dogs scurried back and forth in company, tails wagging furiously. The supplies in the carts were far more than she expected. The journey was no more than a hand of days, was there a need to bring so much? Surely there was more than enough at the old Keep. There hadn't been any news of a bad harvest last year. Then again, the increase in numbers of the garrison would strain the resources of the Keep.

The company of fifty soldiers that were to make the journey to Skanvar were gathered near the carts, most of whom were seeking blessings from Mother Harevis as she walked among them. Ryn's eyes lit up when she saw her chestnut gelding, all saddled and bridled. "Hey, Liddy." The horse wuffled into her palm. She stroked his neck before checking the bit in his mouth, the fastening of the girth and was pleased the stablehands had strapped on the bow case. She should have left instructions for a full tack but Krizo had taken care of it. The bow went into the case on the snaffle on one side of the saddle while the shield went on another at the other side.

As if her thought had conjured him, Krizo appeared at her side. "Need anything?" He nodded at the saddlebags Friesa and the servant was tying down on the packhorse behind the gelding.

"I think I've it." She rattled off the items she had packed, wondering if he would check the packs himself and was pleased when he only nodded.

"If you're short, check the supply carts. Landric is leading this lot, you can't ask for a better guide." He rubbed the gelding's long face when it nudged him. "Your father's waiting to break fast with you."

Uneasy about what she would find, Alaryn went to the main hall. To her relief, there was only Varal and Feric waiting for her unlike the leave-taking supper of the night before with all soldiers and officers partaking of the meal. The fare that morning was plain and simple. Moira would have a fit to see them digging into oatmeal, meat pies and dried winter fruit but with her many leagues away, there was companionable peace at the table.

A servant came in with three mazers and a bottle of wine as they were finishing. Pouring out a measure of wine into each mazer, Varal handed one to Feric and Alaryn before standing, taking up his own mazer as he did so. Alaryn stood and met her father's gaze timorously for this was an unusual development.

His gaze rested solemnly but warmly on her. "To you, my daughter, " he said and raised his mazer. "Hold close the words laid down by our forefathers. Est valiance vis, avidius, seresco, est ultimus ruor. May you fulfill their aspirations. May you find your course."

"To Alaryn," Feric said, raising his mazer to her before drinking.

The wine left a trail of heat down her throat. She held back an involuntary cough and blinked back tears, not wishing to mar the occasion.

"It's time," Varal said, giving her an encouraging clasp on the shoulder.

With legs that suddenly felt a little rubbery, she followed Varal. The soldiers had already formed up in the courtyard. Landric, a grizzled veteran sergeant, saluted when he saw them. "My Lord, the troops are ready."

Varal nodded, casting his eye over the soldiers.

"In the days to come, the troubles of Ferelden may come upon our shores." He raised his voice slightly so all could hear him. The servants and stablehands stood still, listening as intently as the soldiers. "You have been told what to expect and what you will be asked to do. You have all given loyal service to house Trevelyan, for which I cherish greatly and am grateful. Your service in the coming days, will be profound in the safety of not just Trevelyan lands, but the Free Marches. Should a single corrupt aspect of the darkspawn be allowed to come ashore, we are all threatened. I call upon you, to aid my brother, Lord Tarsus, and my daughter, Lady Alaryn, to defend and stand fast against this menace."

Landric went to one knee, the company of soldiers followed a heart beat behind. "My Lord, our lives are theirs to command and we are ready to defend our home," he pledged, a fist held to his heart.

Varal bowed his head in acknowledgement. "May the Maker bless and watch over you all."

Saluting, Landric got to his feet and bellowed out orders. The soldiers came to attention, turned and marched out through the portcullis with the supply carts and pack horses following after.

Varal turned to Alaryn. "Maker watch over you, daughter," he said. "May he light and guide your path."

"Thank you, father." Alaryn swallowed down the surge of fright and tears and quickly turned to Feric who nearly crushed her with his hug.

"Maker be your shield," he smiled at her, giving her another squeeze before nudging her towards the gelding.

Feeling somewhat light headed with fear and excitement, Alaryn mounted and cantered to the portcullis where Landric was waiting for her. At the gate, she stopped for one last look at her father and brother. Standing off to one side in the shadows, Krizo made a sign of blessing. Taking a deep breath, Ryn turned back and looked ahead. Kicking the gelding into a canter, she passed through the gate with Landric behind her. She felt as if she had crossed an unseen boundary into the unknown. Whatever would come, would be of her own making.

Ahead, the soldiers marched steadily in three files through the training grounds, the pennon with the Trevelyan coat of arms fluttered in the light breeze on a long spear. The tip of the spear sparkled in the gathering light, drawing her eyes for it seemed to be telling her of the possible prospects in the days to come. Those soldiers who remained behind, called encouragingly as they stood outside the barracks.

They were soon on the main road that ran along tended fields that fringed the Keep. Distant pastures were blotted with white specks and smaller darker spots. Cattle lowed and farmers hazy figures, becoming more clearer as the sun crawled further up in the sky. From distant trees and bushes, the faint chirrups and tweets of busy birds already hard at work. This early in the morning, there was no chaff or dust as the road was still dampened by the chill of the night but it would soon change as the day progressed.

The sun climbed higher and higher. They stopped for a break when the day grew warmer. By midday, they reached the edge of the woods and stopped for a quick meal of meat rolls and ale. The scouts that had ridden ahead returned to report nothing more than the usual groups of gatherer-hunters from the nearby villages making their rounds of the woods. With summer on the advent, the herbs and vegetables had to be tended, trees trimmed and sweet greenery encouraged to entice grazing deer for the summer hunt.

Alaryn wondered if there would be any hunting at Skanvar as she checked Liddy's hooves for stones. When last she was there, Moira had kept her so close that she couldn't explore as she would like. There were woods nearby, she recalled but her uncle Tarsus had not gone out to hunt even though it was summer. There were no hunting dogs either. Perhaps he didn't partake of the annual diversion nor bestow a boon of the hunt on the villages nearby. She didn't know much of her uncle, she realised. She should have asked her father or Feric but her wits were addled.

 _Hunting? When I have duties to discharge?_

What would her uncle set her to doing? Scribe and watch the books or send her out with patrols? The last seemed unlikely. Perhaps he would pat her on the head, asked if she would like tea and cakes, set her to play with toys in the main hall? That was hardly going to happen either since she was no longer a child. Satisfied that the gelding's hooves were sound, she mounted as Landric gave orders for the march to resume. She made her way to the back of the line, passing Friesa who was climbing back up on the supply cart with the carter's help.

"Enjoying yourself, my lady?" Friesa asked with a impudent grin.

"Hugely," Alaryn returned blandly. Trust the maid to ask a farcical question when she knew the answer.

Landric cantered up beside her at the end of the train after making his customary inspections. "All is well, my lady," he said to her querying look.

She nodded. He had, if she recalled correctly, had served several years at Skanvar before he was recently sent to Barviel on the rotation schedule. "What is Skanvar like, sergeant?"

"Smaller than Barviel, my lady, and more heavily fortified. It used to be a Tewinter fort in olden times, back in the days when the Imperium's hand was over the land. When the Imperium lost control, it was taken over by your ancestors and renamed Skanvar."

A barbaric sounding name. A reminder of times so old that no one knew for certain if that was really the founder's name. "I hardly remember much of it. I visited it but once when I was eight," she said.

"Aye. I was there when you came with your lady mother. Brought colour like. Um -," he faltered at her raised brows, "pardon me, my lady."

"There is no offense," she said with a smile. "Is the place so lack of cheer?"

"It is a fort, my lady," he said. "My Lord Tarsus is deeply employed with his responsibilities to keep the estate running and the roads safe."

"Does he not entertain close company?" she asked curiously.

"Lord Tarsus welcome what is necessary," he said with a inscrutable look.

He had misconstrued her question, she realised. She had meant close friends, not the intimate company he likely thought she was alluding to. Not surprising since her uncle was not married. An unusual state for a noble who had also chosen not to pledge himself to the usual associations expected for one of his rank. Like herself. She pulled away from that thought. If her uncle had such companions, he wasn't going to tattle like a kitchen maid.

"I spoke little to my uncle when I was there," she said. "I barely know him."

"He is equal to my Lord Varal, my lady."

That wasn't much help at all. If her uncle was held with as much deference as her father, why then was he such a reluctant subject with her parents? Something was awry and she wondered what it was. She eyed Landric. If he knew, he wasn't going to tell her. She was going to have to find out for herself.

As if sensing her dissatisfaction, Landric added, "Skanvar is administered much as Barviel is, my lady. Lord Tarsus hold the troops fast to discipline and brooks no disorder. He expects everyone to discharge their duties fully. Rigid as steel he is not. His hand is fair with petitions and judgments. Since we are so close to Ostwick, troops are often given the chance to visit on special days."

"Does my uncle visit Ostwick often?"

"When he has to. Lord Tarsus does not partake in festivities nor parties. He does not begrudge those who do however. There were plans to mark Molioris in Ostwick as usual this year but with this pickle of a new Blight -," Landric shook his head, "-well, the lads will have to observe the festivity in their barracks."

It sounded like her uncle was reclusive. That he was stringent with the men and managed the lands around Skanvar well was no surprise. She'd hardly remember hearing any difficulties from the old Keep. Perhaps the problems with her parents had nothing to do with his ability to handle the responsibilities but something more private? She couldn't even imagine what it could be. Whatever it was, she'd rather hope her uncle would see that hobbling her at the Keep was not going to be of much use to him or her. That sending her out with the patrols was the much practical choice.

Conversation came to a stop and she looked around her. This journey was a rarity as much as strange. For the first time, she was going somewhere on a task, not on a diversion. Except for that single trip to Skanvar, the southern road they were on now was hardly one she had much acquaintance with. The trips to Ostwick with her mother was via the much busier eastern road with sufficient rest stops like taverns and hospitality of the freeholders. Here, there was only the wild woods with the spring growth of heather, bracken, fungi and all manner of budding plants. Beams of sunlight reached through the foliage, lighting the flickers of tiny wings of insects as they darted to and fro. Now and then a rabbit or two dashed through the undergrowth, squirrels scampered on the branches overhead, watching the troops below with liquid eyes. One even dropped a winter pine nut on her head.

The broad trunks of trees eventually gave way to tall thin straight offshoots sprouting from boughs as the day drew slowly to a close. The corporal leading the troops headed off down a broad well trodden path. Wattle fences and houses appeared not soon after. The village of Leundy. As their arrival was expected, they were settled smoothly for the night. The soldiers bedded down at various barns while Alaryn was shown to the guest chamber at the inn. After washing away the dirt of the road and refreshing herself, she sat down to a piping hot meal delivered to her room.

Someone knocked on the door just as she was wiping up the sauce of the stew with the last bit of bread. Friesa went to the door. She washed down the last bite with ale and wiped her mouth with a napkin. A murmur of words before the maid looked over to her.

"My lady, mayor Hutter asked if he could have speech with you."

At her nod, the maid stepped back from the door. Alaryn rose to her feet as a heavyset middle age man in homespun clothes stepped into the room, bringing with him an odor of sweat and dirt. "Mayor Hutter."

He bowed. "I beg pardon for interrupting your rest, Lady Trevelyan."

"Be at ease, ser," she said. "What is it that brings you to me?"

"My lady," he said respectfully, "we seek better understanding of the recent tidings brought to us from Lord Trevelyan's messengers. There is much concern with the news of a Blight. Would you speak to the people? They're waiting in the common room."

Stamping down on a wave of apprehension, she had not been expecting to be asked so soon, Alaryn nodded. "Yes, of course," she said, straightening her back before stepping out.

The hum of voices died away when she appeared on the landing. The sea of faces that looked up at her from the top of stairs was daunting. The sentry that was outside her door stayed where he was. She held tight to calm as she made her down, Friesa and Hutter following. A path opened up quickly before her as she headed for the hearth where Landric and two corporals were standing. They moved to hold clear a space for her when she reached them. Hutter turned to face the crowd.

"This is Lady Trevelyan," he said. "She will speak of the coming trouble that we have been warned of. My lady." He turned to Alaryn.

She had been trying to decide what she had to say the moment she stepped out of the room and down the stairs. Addressing a crowd of people was something she had never done before. She looked over the gathering. Most of them were farmers, shepherds, crofters, hunter-gatherers, wives, husbands. Their curiosity and disquiet clear in their faces. What were they expecting her to say?

 _If I were one of them, what would I want to know?_

"The news from Ferelden confirms that darkspawn are massing," she said. "More and more of them are appearing in the Korcari Wilds and have overrun Chasind villages." She raised her voice slightly over the gasps and murmurings. Hutter muttered something at the crowd and they fell silent.

"King Cailan is presently gathering forces at Ostagar to overcome the horde. If he is successful, the horde will be defeated before they can made further encroachment into Ferelden."

"Is it a Blight, my lady?" someone called from the back of the crowd.

"It is not certain at the moment. There has been no sighting of an Archdemon."

The crowd rumbled. "Will darkspawn appear here?" another called out.

She would have liked to say no but that would be a lie when she didn't know. "I do not know," she admitted frankly. Landric glanced at her. Should she have prevaricated or answer differently? It was too late to take it back. Faces turned pale at the implications of an outbreak of darkspawn that was nearer to home and the rising tension was palpable.

"Throughout the history of the Blights, darkspawn upsurges were unpredictable because they dug and travelled underground, they could appear anywhere. But there is -" The rumble of conversation that broke out drowned out her next words.

"Silence!" Landric shouted, stilling the crowd. "My lady has not finished speaking."

"The reach of the darkspawn enlarges when they began to take over and expand their territories," Alaryn said matter-of-factly. "This often presaged the appearance of the Archdemon. That is when they will spread all over the land. As of this moment, they are held to the Korcari Wilds."

The tension eased slightly. "Our immediate concern in the coming days is not the darkspawn," she said, looking across the crowd. The 'yet' hovered unsaid. "It is the people who are seeking safety from the darkspawn, people who have lost their homes. Many will cross the sea."

Heads nodded in agreement. "We're not turning away these people but we must be cautious." She paused, recalling the conversation she had with Feric, the arguments with her father. She could see Landric eyeing her covertly. "My father wishes to secure the borders of this land, the Free Marches, to protect its people. If any one has been injured by the darkspawn, it means that they're likely to carry the taint. Admit no strangers who are ill, even traders and merchants you know if they show signs of sickness. If it is only food and water that they seek, provide it but do not allow them to enter."

"Are they then to wander freely?" Hutter asked apprehensively. "If they're sick, tainted-"

"No, they're not to wander. Construct a dwelling not far from the village and confine them. Send word to my father and he will see to their removal."

The crowd burst into loud debate. This time, Landric didn't shout them down but watched them keenly. The front door opened and a man in homespun and worn leathers came into the tavern and went to Hutter, whispering into his ear. The mayor frowned, visibly hesitated before addressing Alaryn.

"My lady," he said. "We have recently captured an intruder for trespassing and poaching. We were going to hand him over to the regular patrol so my lord Varal could pass judgement. I set Kern here to guard him but now he says the knife-ear is showing signs of sickness.."

That caught her attention at once. "Knife-ear?"

"A Dalish," Kern cut in anxiously. "One of the wild ones with funny tattoos all over the face." He whirled a finger over his face.

"Manners, Kern," Hutter admonished. Kern subsided, shuffling awkwardly as he stepped back. "I thought perhaps my lady would look into the matter? We could have a swift resolution if the knife-ear should be tainted."

A stone came to settle in her stomach. Swift resolution. From the expression in his eye, she knew it was the final stroke he was thinking of. She wasn't ready for that.

Landric stepped up beside her. "If it's a wild Dalish, how did you manage to catch him?" he asked.

"He was busy with his kill when we saw him so it's no great trouble at all to snare him," Kern said eagerly.

"We?" Landric looked from Kern to Hutter.

"Me and my brother," Kern said, thumping his chest.

"And who's your brother?" Landric asked patiently.

"Paric. He's watching that knife-ear else he'll be here."

"What was the elf doing?"

"When we saw him, he was cutting up a stag. We know the laws, we know he's breaking them," Kern said proudly, eyes flicking to Alaryn. "We don't like no one stealing the lord's hunting beasts so we knew we must bring him in."

"When did you capture him?"

Kern frowned. "Two days ago. We were expecting a patrol yesterday but no one came."

"To strengthen the borders, soldiers are presently relocated to the front," Landric said, putting up a hand to halt Hutter when he made to speak. "Patrols there are but with longer stretches between."

"Why do you say the elf is sick?" Alaryn asked.

"He's all sweaty and looks like a ghost," Kern said.

"Kill the knife-ear. Up to good he is," a testy voice said sharply from behind them.

Startled, Alaryn sought the speaker and saw it came from an old woman feeding wood into the hearth.

"Wild and bloodthirsty. All of them are," the old woman continued. "Takes a knife to you if they see a hair of you. Cuts you up for their heathen fires and feeds you to their heathen gods. If you see one in the village, they come to steal and poison the well. Cursed they are, they bring bad tidings."

"Couldn't have said it better, old mum," someone muttered.

The crowd had fallen silent, Alaryn realised. From the set faces filled with loathing, they had all passed their judgment and sentence on the elf. The air seemed to crackle with their fear and hate. Landric looked at her before cutting his eyes to the tavern door.

"I will see this elf myself," Alaryn said. "The will of my father has been made clear this night," she added, catching the eye of every person in the crowd as she looked around the room. "Protect yourselves against those who come with sickness but offer the hand of mercy, compassion and shelter, not the hand of the knife. Be certain that judgment will fall on those who slay out of fear and ignorance."

The tension abated slightly as they took in the warning.

Hutter bowed. "My lord Trevelyan's order will be obeyed. The meeting is over." He gestured to the crowd to leave. They stood and waited as the common room emptied. Presently he said, "My lady, the elf is presently held at the tithe barn. I will bring you to him."

The few stragglers at the door looked back and made haste to remove themselves when they saw Landric bearing down on them. The cool air outside was balm to Alaryn as they followed Hutter along a broad stone path. Friesa and Kern, with the two corporals, brought up the rear. The title barn stood at a juncture of two stone paths not far from the tavern. The furnace, embers still glowing, and the forge of a blacksmith stood along one. From the smell and bustle from the other building on the other path, a bakery. Amber light shone beneath the shutters of the dwellings nearby.

The heavy door of the title barn was ajar when they reached it. The unexpected sound of heavy thumps and a grunt of pain floated out. Without waiting for Hutter, Landric wrenched the door open. At the sight of what was happening within, Alaryn shouted, "Halt!"


	3. Chapter 3

**Chapter III**

 **9.30 Dragon, Leundy Village**

The foot that was midway through its swing continued on its way, connecting with the prone man on the sweet flag covered floor with a hard thump. This brought another grunt and tight panting breaths. At the sight of the group standing at the doorway, the owner of the foot stepped back, brushing back a greasy lock of brown hair back from his face with a hand.

"What are you doing, Paric?" Hutter demanded.

"This knife-ear was cursing me," Paric said angrily. A wheeze of a snigger broke from the elf. Paric snarled and would have landed another kick when Alaryn stepped nearer. He froze.

Taking one of the lanterns from the wall and holding it nearer to the elf, Alaryn could see that he was indeed a Dalish. His arms were bound behind him. Knotty green vines swirled over his face, as if a plant had suddenly taken root on him. Dark bruises blackened his eyes and cheeks. His lips cut and swollen. Marks of clouting? His skin was very pale and he was sweating. His leathers were green mottled with brown and grey with patterns reminiscent of leaves. From the hanging strings around his belt, whatever had hung from it had been cut away. The knife sheath at his side was empty. He stared at Paric with a grin akin to mad delight.

"What did he say?" she asked, not taking her eyes off the elf.

"Some mad chatter in his heathen words, laughing he was. Cursing me he was!" Paric growled when the elf chuckled.

The elf turned his gaze on Alaryn when she crouched down near him. Landric tensed but did not stop her. The clear light grey of the elf's eyes startled her for she had not seen the like before. Raising a hand slowly, she reached for his chin. Pausing for a moment with a questioning look, she waited for a response. When there was none, she took his chin gently and turned his head side to side. She saw the cut near the back of his head, the blood dried and crusted over. His skin felt hot to her. He was running a fever. Her lips tightened at the finger marks around his neck.

"I want the mender and his assistants here, now," she said.

Landric nodded to one of the corporals who took off quickly.

"My lady, surely the elf do not-," Hutter began to say and broke off when Alaryn stood. At the look in her eyes, he fell silent.

"Tell me how you found him, Paric," she said.

Paric looked at Kern who said, "My lady, it was just as I-"

"I want to hear it from Paric."

As if realising she was displeased, Paric said meekly, "Me and my brother, we was out in the woods, polding the trees when we saw the knife-ear take down the stag. It's the lord's beast so we know the elf is breaking the law Them heathens know not be intruding too but this one was so we know we have to catch him for the lord's justice."

"How did you catch him?"

"We went up on him, all quiet like and jumped on him." Paric made a pouncing motion with his arms. "He gave us a real fight too, cut up my arm good. We beat him up just to calm him down and bring him in."

"What did you do with the stag?"

An uneasy look flashed across Paric's face which he stilled quickly. "We left it behind," he said, blinking rapidly as he licked his lips. "We went back for it later as the mayor said it's the elf's misdeed we must show to the lord but it was already eaten up by other animals."

The burst of laughter from the elf startled them. Paric's face went red and he made a move for the elf but Alaryn's glare cut short his intention.

"Dirthara-ma. Na din'an sahlin," the elf said grinning, sweat rolling down his face as he forced himself up. He was looking even worse than before.

"You see, my lady," Kern said angrily, hands curling into fists. "He's cursing my brother."

"Ma halam." The elf looked at Kern before relaxing.

"Where are his belongings?" Alaryn asked.

"Over there." Paric pointed to a table in the far corner.

A longbow, a quiver of arrows and a dagger lay on top. The bow string was broken. The blade of the dagger was clean, Alaryn noted before looking around the table. There was no niche. "Where're the pouches on his belt?" she asked, eyeing the two brothers suspiciously.

They shrugged. "I didn't see any pouches," Kern said at the same time as Paric who said, "They must have been torn off." They looked at each other in irritation, clearly unhappy with the other's answer. A heavy frown came to settle on Hutter's brows.

The sound of many boots at the door drew their attention. Mender Riggs came in with his assistants. His brows raised slightly when he saw who was on the floor before coming down when he perceived the injuries.

He bowed. "My lady."

"I want you to examine the elf and determine what ails him. I want to know what injuries he has. See to them and clean him up. I also want you to check that man-," she pointed to Paric, "for any recent wounds."

"My lady, I have no need of the mender," Paric protested. "I am not injured."

"Sergeant Landric," she said, ignoring the outburst. "Hold Paric and Kern until the events of the incident can be cleared up. Their dwelling is to be searched..."

"My lady, this is excessive," Hutter interjected sharply. "What are these two men accused of?"

Alaryn regarded him thoughtfully. "I have not accused them of anything. They are witnesses to a crime against the law, against my father. Hence, I am taking steps to ensure their words and their virtue is unstained, that every single piece of evidence is presented. The elf holds no dwelling here. All that he owns, is on him and on this table. Open to examination and judgment. The property of Paric and Kern must be searched by third parties to ensure they have nothing to hide."

"My lady," Kern said diffidently, looking a shade paler. "We can assure you we brought the knife-ear straight to the mayor and to this barn."

"I wish to be sure of that," she said. "Mayor Hutter, you will stay and bear witness to the examination of the elf. Once it is over, you will lead sergeant Landric to the brothers' home."

"Where shall I hold the witnesses, my lady?" Landric asked.

Glancing around the barn which was empty since the tithe for the year would not be collected until Harvestmere, Alaryn motioned to the farthest corner away from the elf. "They can stay here until the matter is resolved. They are not to wander without leave."

"Yes, my lady."

Landric waved to the brothers to move themselves as Riggs bent over the elf who had fallen unconscious. Shuffling reluctantly at first, the two men moved more quickly as more soldiers appeared, taking up guard posts on both sides of the door. They settled themselves sullenly in the corner as Alaryn left the barn with Friesa. Back in her room at the inn, she sat down at the table to wait.

The dinner dishes had been cleared away and someone had left behind a pot of tea and cups. Lightly tapping on the pot with a finger to check if it was hot, Friesa poured out a cup.

"Tea, my lady?"

"Hmmm..." Alaryn turned the cup distractedly.

"Do you think them guilty?" Friesa asked as she sat down.

"Guilty of something they decidedly are."

"What about the elf?"

Alaryn sighed. "He knows something but he may not wish to speak of it. This is not exactly the way I thought I would meet a Dalish." She sipped the tea and grimaced at the slightly acrid tang.

"You'll want to meet them in battle, I wager," Friesa said with a grin.

Alaryn stared at her in astonishment. "When did I ever-," she began to say before she checked herself as memory asserted itself. "That was when I was still a childling, ears filled with wild stories and head filled with wild imaginations."

"Are both less filled now that you ride forth as a warrior?" Friesa asked teasingly.

"Less." Alaryn glared with mock anger when Friesa giggled. She stared into her cup. "I used to think and fear like these people do. The veterans' tales are full of Dalish savagery, they numbered how many of their companions, members of their family they lost to those savages. How they lust for vengeance and stewed in hate. Then I go to Ostwick for the first time and see the elves there. I thought they're not people, that they worship strange gods, secretly practise blood rituals and eat babies. I could barely speak when one of them tried to serve me. I ran away."

"The city elves are more civilised, my lady, unlike the wild ones," Friesa said somberly. "The tales told of them is but the truth. If not for them, I would not have lost a father and an uncle."

Belatedly realising Friesa was one of those who had lost relatives to the elves, Alaryn said apologetically, "I'm sorry for bringing it up. Still, I question the tales." Pulling a footstool over, she propped up her feet and leaned back in her chair. "Do you remember the case of the Solime shepherd?"

"Who does not?"

"I heard the gossips, the tales. I was afraid. Then I watched my father sit in judgment and realised truth has many sides. Everyone has their side of it. To reach empathy and a just settlement, nothing must be left out. If not for my father, he would have been unjustly punished."

"Then you feel the Dalish have been unjustly condemned," Friesa said slowly.

"It has been eight hundred years since the Elves were broken. The weight of sentence has mouldered over long. It will not change because they have no voice. None desires to hear them or seek empathy. Now they wander and avoid any intercourse with us. To have tales of them that grow wilder and wilder is not surprising."

"Tales of their killing is no yarn," Friesa said flatly.

"No and yet if they're always treated as outlaws, we can expect no better conduct from them, no better understanding of their ways."

"They're not worthy of thought," Friesa said coldly and bitingly before getting up and rummaged through her own belongings.

Alaryn bit back a sigh as she watched her maid set up her own pallet. The heavy thumps a clear message of her unhappiness. She should have known better than to discuss a touchy matter with Friesa. Notions about elves was a crusty passion carried by most. She doubted it could ever be changed. To move such a river, it would take a colossal upheaval.

She rubbed her temple absentmindedly as she gazed unseeing at the candles on the table. The villagers presumed a matter of course for the trespassing elf. Yet, the outcome might not be what they expected.

"You should rest, my lady."

She turned her head to find Friesa next to her with a apologetic look on her face. "I can do with a rest," she said agreeably. She lie on the bed without taking off her boots and closed her eyes. Sleep did not come to her, not with the conundrum of the elf to resolve and that Riggs would be reporting to her soon. The familiar sound of Friesa moving about lulled her into a light doze. She woke immediately at the soft rap on the door and got up as Friesa moved to open it.

The maid gasped when the wide spread antlers and skeletal head of a stag appeared in the doorway instead of the expected men. She fell back as the head, the severed end wrapped in old leather, moved into the room. The soldier carrying it set it down on the floor by the table. Another placed a large battered pot next to it. They stepped back as Landric, Riggs and Hutter came in. The mayor was decidedly unhappy. Dragging their feet behind him was Paric and Kern who stopped at the landing outside with the soldiers escorting them.

"What did you find, sergeant?" Alaryn asked as she moved to the table to look into the pot. It was full of half smoked meat. She wrinkled her nose at the faint underlying sour odor.

"We found the head of the stag and a drying rack of meat at the home of the Holber brothers," he said. "We also found these on the shelves." He opened his hand to show three pouches with cut strings. "One is empty, the second is filled with herbs, the third-," he emptied out the pouch to reveal a medallion etched with leaves and twines, "- this elven pendant."

"Mayor Hutter, could these-," Alaryn lightly tapped the pot with a foot, "-be the remaining boon bestowed by my father on Firstfall last year?"

It wasn't of course but she wanted the mayor to declare it. For a moment, Hutter looked as if he didn't want to answer. "No, my lady," he said finally. "The hunting gifts of your lord father is always in the charge of the village butcher."

"The meat is from a recent kill and it comes from a large animal. How did you come by it, Kern?"

"My lady, it's truth we tell. We went back for the stag to bring it in, the animals ate most of it. The head was there and a lot of meat so we decided to bring it back." Sweat rolled down Kern's face as his eyes flicked from Alaryn to the pot, to the stag and back again.

"This could feed many people for a few days," Alaryn observed.

"We thought to save trouble by dry...drying it first before giving it to the mayor to divide it up," Paric burst out.

"Mayor Hutter, you told these men to bring back the proof of the elf's misdeed. Did you ask them to cut it up and dry it?"

"No, my lady. It is my lord Varal's property. It is his will that decides what should be done with the stag."

The brothers went white. "M..my..lady...we..," Kern began.

"Did you remove the pouches from the elf?" Alaryn asked coldly.

"Yes...but we did not kill the stag. The elf did!" Paric said desperately.

"What was in the empty pouch?" Alaryn demanded.

"A few coppers," Kern mumbled. "My lady please..we.."

"Silence," Alaryn said shortly before turning to Riggs. "Mender Riggs."

"My lady, the elf has claw markings on his right leg that is healing. They are at least a few days old. He has a bump and a cut on the lower back of his head that has not been tended to and is festering. Marks of being knocked about on his back, his face and throttling on his neck. The lower left ribs are heavily bruised but not broken," Riggs said in a level voice. His eyes said something else differently when he glanced at the Holber brothers.

"Is the festering wound the cause of the fever?"

Riggs blinked, startled. Understanding came to him when he thought it over. "I would say yes. My assistants and I will keep close watch on him."

"Is he lucid?"

"He may speak with clarity on the morrow."

Alaryn nodded. "What did you find on Paric Holber?"

"There is no sign of any recent wounds, only wood splinters on his hands."

"Is there anything you wish to add, Mayor Hutter?" she asked.

He stared at her blankly for a moment before turning to look at the Holber brothers. Both men stared at him pleadingly. "My lady, I..do not excuse their actions. I ask only for mercy. They were both born in this village and have contributed much with their labors."

Silence fell. Everyone waited as Alaryn turned away from them and walked over to the half opened window, weighing her options. "Sergeant." She beckoned to Landric. "A patrol is coming through here, is it not, on the morrow?" she asked softly when he reached her.

"Yes my lady. Midday if I'm not mistaken."

"Very well." She turned to face the room. "All three men will be sent to my father for judgment. Sergeant Landric, see that all three do not leave the barn. Have the butcher and the hunter-gatherers examined the meat and the remains of the stag tomorrow."

"As you command, my lady," Landric said, a fist to his chest in salute. At a gesture, the soldiers at the door pulled the Holber brothers away. Numbed with shock, they made no protest nor resisted. The head of the stag and the pot of meat were borne away. A glum Hutter bowed and left. Friesa closed and locked the door behind Landric, the last to leave.

Sitting down on her bed with a sigh, Alaryn unbuckled her boots and pulled them off. Friesa held out a basin of water and a towel as she removed her socks.

"Is the meat not from the stag?" she asked curiously as Alaryn washed her face.

"Didn't you notice the smell?" Alaryn said, dropping the towel back into the basin.

"I was too far away. If it smells vinegary, they could be using seasonings," Friesa said as she wring out the towel and emptied the water into one of the chamber pots.

"Seasonings on top of drying and smoking? There'll hardly be anything left to eat." Flopping down on her bed, she added, "If the taste doesn't kill whoever tries it first." She tossed and turned for a while before pushing the matter from her mind. Closing her eyes, she let herself drift as Friesa rustled about, putting out the lanterns and candles before she settled in her pallet. Silence fell.

"You could have dealt with the men," Friesa said softly.

"Hmmm...not with an elf in the pie," Alaryn mumbled, half asleep. "There're more answers to be found."

"Answers to what?" Friesa waited. When no answer was forthcoming, she lifted her head to peer at the bed but heard nothing except soft breathing. It would have to wait till the morrow.

There were not many villagers about when Alaryn made her way to the barn the next morning. Most of them had gone to the fields to tend to the land, the sheep, the herbage in the woods, the pollarding of trees. The few she encountered on the paths were polite though she sensed an unspoken resentment, the cause all too patent in their glances at the tithe barn. That they rather the elf took all the blame than to have two of their own found to be pinching from their overlord was plain.

She sidestepped two children, long loaves of bread wrapped in cloth in their arms, trotting to the inn from the bakery. The savory smells of baking grew stronger as she approached the tithe barn. One of the guards at the door opened it. Stale air rushed out, bringing along a smell of hot oil and unwashed bodies.

"Open the windows," she told one of the soldiers standing inside as she stepped in.

He flung open the windows facing the bakery. The fresh breeze that blew in took out the mustiness, replacing it with the aroma of hot rolls.

The Holber brothers stared at her from their corner, half-eaten meat pies in their hands. From the dark shadows around their eyes, their night hadn't been restful. She spared them a glance before going over to the pallet, where the elf lay, on the other side of the barn. One of Riggs's assistants, Koch, rose to his feet as she stopped beside him.

"How bad is the fever?" she asked, noting the beads of sweat on the elf's face, the sweat soaked tunic. His leathers were draped over a chair nearby.

"It broke not long ago my lady. With care and rest, his recovery will be quick," Koch said.

"Has he said anything?"

Koch shook his head. "Nothing we can make out. It was all in his own language."

"Will he be able to travel?"

"Yes, my lady."

Feeling a little disappointed, Alaryn turned away and stopped short at the touch on her lower calf. Surprised, she turned back to find the eyes of the elf opened. He withdrew his hand as his mouth moved. She bent closer. "What is it?"

"...bellanaris din'an heem."

"I am sorry. I do not understand. Can you speak Common?"

"The stag...tainted."

"What?" she said in disbelief. Did she hear him right? "Did you say the stag is tainted?"

"Bad."

She stared at him, speechless for a moment. "Tainted as in what kind of bad. Are you talking about the taint from darkspawn?"

His nod was barely discernible. "Tainted."

"How is that possible?" Koch burst out in horror. "Ferelden is..." He broke off when she grabbed his arm.

"Quiet," she ordered in a low voice, looking over her shoulder. Except for dark looks from the Holber brothers, no one seemed to have heard what was said. "We do not want to rouse alarm. Is he still affected by the fever?" she demanded.

"I don't know-" Koch muttered as he bent over the elf, "-who am I?" He pointed to himself.

"Were you friends yesterday?" Alaryn asked caustically when the elf only blinked at him.

"I'm sorry," Koch said, flustered. A flush reddened his face. "I mean..."

"Shemlen..."

"Well he got the term right. No, don't sleep-." Koch reached out to shake the elf's shoulders.

"Let him rest." Alaryn turned to eye the Holber brothers apprehensively as she stood up and walked over to them. "How far away were you from the village when you saw the elf?"

The brothers looked at each other, as if deciding how they should answer. "The truth," she said sharply. "Your lives depend on it."

Their eyes widened. "Not far from the hookbeak spring, my lady," Kern said quickly. "About two leagues from the south gates."

"Hookbeak spring?"

"It's named for the rock from wheres the spring comes from. Looks like the hook beak of a hawk," Paric said, shaping a hand to show what he meant.

"You will lead me to this spring, Kern," Alaryn said. When he didn't move, she added, "Now." Kern stood up hastily. "Have sergeant Landric meet me at the stables," she said to one of the guards. "Escort this man to the stables," she told another. She stopped by the inn to grab her sword, shield and bow before going to the stables, brushing off Friesa's concerned questions.

Landric appeared as she was tightening the girth on her horse. "My lady?" he asked in puzzlement for the stableboy was saddling up his horse.

"I want to see the place where they came across the elf and the stag." She went over the straps again before grabbing the reins to lead Liddy out. "You'll have to ride double." She nodded at Kern. "He'll lead us to the spot."

With a look of distaste, Landric beckoned to Kern. He checked his horse.

"Good job," he said to the stableboy who grinned.

Out in the yard, he mounted and offered a hand to Kerm who scrambled awkwardly up behind him. The horse snorted at the unexpected hard dig in the side.

"Hold fast to my belt," he said shortly. "Where to from the main gate?"

"South gates," Kern corrected, grabbing hold of Landric's belt at the back as he swayed. "There's a path we usually take to our patch of trees."

"We should take more men," Landric murmured to Alaryn as he nudged his horse nearer to hers.

"We are enough," she said.

His brows shot up but he did not argue. Kicking his horse into a canter, he headed for the southern gates, Alaryn behind him. Following Kern's directions, they went down the southern road for half a candle mark before turning onto a well trodden path through groves of pollarded trees. A few villagers tending herbage at the groves gaped in astonishment as they went by. The groves ended at a stream. Beyond that, the thick growth of the forest clustered darkly.

"Where to?" Landric asked as Alaryn drew up beside him.

"Across and follow the stream, hookbeak is not far," Kern said, gesturing towards the left with his arm.

"Where were you when you saw the elf?" Alaryn asked before Landric could move off.

Eyes darting around him, Kern said, "Here, we were trimming the trees. We saw him with his bow out and running along the stream into the woods."

Gazing across the stream, Alaryn found his words highly questionable. The forest canopy was thick, light from the sun was barely reaching through. The elf was wearing leathers that had been made to blend in with the forest and shadows, how had they been able to see him? With the groves in clear sight and a warning of human habitation, the elf would make sure he remained unseen.

Landric met her gaze, the same doubt lurking in his eyes. She nudged Liddy across the stream and followed its meandering course as it curved away from the groves and into the forest. Except for the muted chirps of birds high above and the fleeting shadows of squirrels darting along branches, nothing moved on the sparse forest floor. The source of the spring appeared as a hump, becoming a small outcrop as they went nearer. She could see why it was called hookbeak. The wall surface of the outcrop jutted outward, curving down like the cruel beak of hawks. Water gurgled forth from a small crevice below.

"There." Kern pointed to the right of the outcrop. "We saw the elf cutting up his kill there."

"Off you get," Landric said. He grabbed Kern's arm as he hopped off. "Don't wander." He dismounted and handed the reins to Kern. "You know what's a hitching post."

"Uh..yes ser," Kern replied in confusion.

"That's what you are now." Without waiting for Kern's response, he went over to Alaryn who was searching the ground, Liddy's reins in her hands.

"I think that's where the stag was. Bleeding out into the ground," she said, pointing to a irregular patch of disturbed soil that was darker than the rest. "The ground is broken up."

"The elf gave them a fight," Landric observed. "The tracks of the stag is broken, it was injured," he pointed to a rugged line of shallow depressions. "The elf was likely bent over the stag, they threw a stone at his head to daze him and then jumped him." Broken yellowish grey fragments littered the ground. He picked one up and turned it over in his hands. "This looks like a bone. Rather unusual in colour."

Alaryn frowned. "I wonder what happened to the hide and the bones?"

Rubbing his jaw, Landric said musingly, "They would have taken them but we didn't find any at their home."

"They left them behind?" Alaryn said doubtfully. She shook her head. "Abandon a hide that can be sold for a good price? Bones that can be stewed?"

"Unlikely," Landric agreed. "They couldn't bring all of the bones back perhaps. Whatever they had brought back could have been grounded up."

"Do you think they're nearby?"

"I'll make a search. Don't let him get the better of you, my lady," he warned softly.

"The more foolish is he if he tries it but I'll not give him such a chance," Alaryn promised.

She watched Landric strolled away before turning to pat Liddy on the nose, pretending to fuss over her horse as she watched Kern out of the corner of her eye. Plainly nervous and anxious, he stared in the direction where Landric had vanished, the reins gripped tightly in white knuckled hands. His eyes flicked to her, then all around. She wondered if he would try to run or mount on Landric's horse. Given his lack of experience with horses, attempting it might end up with him under the hooves. Running would be pointless when she could chase him down easily.

His feet began to shuffle restlessly as time trickled by. Just when she thought he would pluck up the courage to do something, she spotted Landric's return. Not empty handed, she noticed. A rolled up hide was held at arm's length in front of him. Kern saw it too. Incredulity swept over his face before it screwed up in disgust. Alaryn drew back in aversion at the stench as Landric came nearer. The horses snorted and tossed their heads, equally disturbed. Landric stopped several paces away, dumped the putrefying hide on the ground and opened it. Blackened bones rolled out.

"By the Maker!" Alaryn gasped, a hand cupped over her lower face as she almost gagged at the smell.

"I found these under a tree, about half a candlemark from here." Landric pointed at the hide and bones. "What is this Kern?" When the man only stared at him, he hauled him over to the hide. His horse shied when the reins tugged at him. He took the reins from Kern, tied it to his belt and pointed. "Explain this." He grabbed the man's arm when he tried to move away.

"I don't know! The elf came awake and threw away the hide and the bones," Kern burst out, struggling to back away from the mess.

"So you were already butchering the stag before you brought back the elf," Landric growled.

"I...please. Why is this happening?!" Kern said wildly. "The bones were not like this. Three, four days, it shouldn't be like this!"

"The elf woke earlier and told me the stag is tainted," Alaryn revealed.

Two pairs of eyes regarded her. One in comprehension, the other in horror. "That's why you wanted to come out here, I see," Landric said.

"No-," Kern shook his head violently. "It can't be true."

"The truth lies there." Landric gestured to the bones. "We'll have to burn it."

"It can't be true!" Kern wailed.

"You and your brother ate some of the stag, didn't you?" Alaryn said softly. "Boiled some of the bones you brought back?"

Kern blanched white. "Maker, no.."

Landric recoiled when Kern vomited suddenly. He hunched over as he emptied the contents of his stomach. Alaryn looked away, the sight and sound increasing her nausea. When he was coughing up empty, Landric pounded Kern on the back.

"Snap out of it!" he ordered. Collapsing to the ground in a heap, Kern sobbed.

"He's not going anywhere." Heaving a sigh, Landric said, "We need a good fire to burn everything, my lady. I'll stay here with him while you send some of the boys here with the makings of a bonfire."

"You'll be all right?"

"No animal is going to come near with that foul blighted remains smelling for leagues around."

"I'll be as quick as I can," Alaryn promised. She mounted Liddy and headed back to the village.


	4. Chapter 4

**Chapter IV**

 **9.30 Dragon, Leundy Village**

Once she was back at Leundy, Alaryn sent corporal Versh and a few soldiers, with Kern to show them the way, on a borrowed cart loaded with kindling, wood and oil. Though the butcher and hunter-gatherers had yet to examine the meat, she sent it along with the soldiers. Mayor Hutter wanted to know what was going on, she told him to wait. Unable to voice his dissatisfaction and unhappiness, he stomped away down the stonepath to where a small cluster of villagers were gathered outside his home. Ignoring the glances thrown her way, Alaryn went to the tithe barn, hoping the elf was awake. He was not. She debated whether she ought to return to the inn.

Muka, Riggs's second assistant was squatted next to the pallet, busily pouring warm water and liquid from medicinal vials into a small bowl and stirring the contents with a spoon. A potion, she supposed. She watched as he shook the elf awake, heaved him up to a half sitting position with an arm and brought the bowl to his lips. She skipped out of the way of flying liquid when the elf batted at the bowl, eyes half closed.

"Damnation," Muka cursed, putting the bowl on the ground to shake his hand before wiping it dry on his tunic. "Sorry, my lady," he apologised when he caught sight of her.

"Let me," she said when he prepared to bring the bowl to the elf again. "You hold him steady," she added, taking away the bowl before he could protest. She patted the elf gently on the face. "Wake up. Come on, wake up."

When his eyes were completely opened, she showed him the bowl. "Medicine. You have to drink. Medicine," she emphasized when he blinked drowsily at her. She tensed as she held it to his lips, ready to spring back if he resisted or spit but his mouth opened. "Has he anything to eat?" she asked when the bowl was emptied.

"Broth, my lady." Muka took the bowl from her. "Riggs said to try some light pottage later, we'll see if he takes to that."

"I'll stay here awhile if you have to clear those up." Alaryn nodded at the basin and rags floating in dirty water sitting nearby.

"My thanks, my lady." Putting the vials back into the large pouch at his waist, Muka gathered up the bowl and basin and left the barn.

After a glance at the elf whose eyes were still open, Alaryn looked around before bending closer.

"We found where the stag was killed," she said softly. His eyes opened wider and his lips lifted with a smile of satisfaction. "Can you tell me what happened?"

He blinked. For a moment, he said nothing, as if deciding whether he should speak out.

"We know what is happening at Ferelden. If it should break out over here, we can't stand around doing nothing. The taint spares no one."

His brows twitched and a gleam of respect came into his eyes.

"I was hunting, far west of here. Close to the Vimmark Mountains. I came across a pack of wolves. Feral and dark. They did not smell right. I followed their tracks. I killed one and saw the beginnings of the taint. I knew then the blight have come. The wolves must be destroyed. I followed the pack and saw them attacked a herd of deer. The stag drew them off and led them on a chase. I followed. Killed more of the pack. The survivors scattered to the winds. The stag did not die but I knew it was seriously injured. No one would eat dead wolves but a stag is a different tale so I chose to follow."

His eyes closed. She waited patiently.

"I knew I was close to this village but I didn't think any one saw me. The stag had fallen near a stream, dying. It had to be destroyed, removed. I was about to but then I was attacked. You know the rest."

"You didn't see the two men."

"No. I was struck from behind by a thrown rock and before I could recover, they took advantage."

"Did the stag pass by the groves in clear sight"

"Yes. I knew it would not go near and waited for it to move."

"Where do you think the wolves came from?"

"You mean how they were tainted?" He opened his eyes. "The Blight had marched across this land. There are tunnels there are not closed."

"The Vimmark Mountains," Alaryn nodded in agreement. It was all too likely. "You know of the darkspawn gathering in Ferelden."

"Word has spread. If you think some of the horde is moving out in the Deep Roads, yes. I believe some have made their way to the surface over here."

"Have you come across people, refugees, in the west?"

"I would not be able to tell."

Of course he wouldn't but she had to ask. She sat back on her heels, thinking. The border of Trevelyan lands was several leagues from the Vimmark Mountains. If the surviving blighted wolves held territory at the mountains, would they remain there? If they did not, they could easily wander across the border and wreaked havoc among the wildlife. Even if they did not wander, any wildlife they tainted could easily spread it anywhere. The same could be said of the darkspawn if they had indeed surfaced. Her father must be apprised of the matter as soon as possible.

"Thank you," she said.

"What will you do with me?"

"By your account, you've broken no law. Everything that I have seen support this. However, the final judgment does not lie with me," she said regretfully. "But if you can help us, you may yet go free."

"Help you?"

"Our border marches close to the Vimmark Mountains, if there is any opened darkspawn ingress, it must be closed."

"I only know where I encountered the blight wolves."

"That is more than what we know now. Will you lead the way?"

He sighed. "If I must do what is right-" he closed his eyes, "-you have my word."

"I am Alaryn."

"Not my lady?" He opened his eyes to look at her. "I would not have my hurts doubled for insolence," he said wryly.

"You may use it when no ears are close," she said with a smile.

"And I am called Vararian." He paused for a moment. "Alaryn."

"We'll be making for my father's border keep later."

"Very well, my lady," he said, looking at something over her shoulder.

She turned to see Muka returned with a small kettle. "I'll leave you to rest."

She made arrangements with Muka to see that Vararian ride in one of the supply carts when they leave before making her way out of the tithe barn. She walked to the tavern. Absorbed in composing the letter she intended to write to her father, she did not see the small knot of villagers with Hutter in their midst approaching until they called out as she reached for the door of the inn.

"My lady, would you hear our plea?"

Alaryn recognised the old woman who had spoken as the one tending to the hearth in the tavern last night.

"What ails you, old mother?" she asked politely even though she could guess what they wanted to say.

The old woman stepped foward. "Yes," she nodded, "I'm old. I have seen many winters, hear the cries of the newborn and the bereft, felt the touch of the honorable and the corrupt, tasted kindness and cruelty."

Alaryn bowed her head in acknowledgement. "Enlighten me, old mother, of your expectation."

"Tis not right to repay the protection and generosity of thy father with thievery and falsehoods. Yet for all their foolishness, Kern and Paric have faithfully and loyally serve from the moment they could lift a tool. Their labors have aided this village and they are kindly to those in need. This is their first transgression and it shall be their last. Can you not put a good word with lord Varal?"

The plea filled Alaryn with sadness. She offered her hands to the old woman who took hold hopefully. "Old mother," she said softly but clearly, "the deeds of Kern and Paric have become a far reaching burden."

"Why? Why do you say that?" Hutter asked anxiously. The others echoed the question as they stepped closer.

"I have seen the hide and the bones that Kern and Paric hid near the hookbeak stream. It is not falsehood that I speak." Alaryn looked at the villagers. "The stag was wounded and killed, not by the elf, but by blighted wolves."

They stared at her, faces turning pale at the implications. "The elf told me the blighted wolves were sighted near the Vimmark Mountains. He tracked the wounded stag out of fear that it would be devoured innocently. Alas, it happened as he had feared."

"Are you saying..," Hutter choked. The others looked horrified.

"Oh my lady, it can't be true!" the old woman cried out, falling to her knees.

"I'm sorry." Alaryn glanced at Hutter who hastily came forward to help. A couple of the older women assisted the old woman to her feet and led her away as she wept.

"Meg is the oldest of us," Hutter said heavily. "She helps with the birthing, the care of childlings. We're all her children."

"Has she none of her own?"

"She lives her with eldest son. Her daughter is wed to a farrier at Ostwick. The youngest was lost in an accident." Wiping tears away, Hutter turned to Alaryn. "Is there no hope then?" His shoulders sagged when she shook her head. "They're not very bad men, just foolish and thoughtless at times. What's to do?"

"The patrol will arrive soon. The brothers cannot stay here so they will go to my father who will safeguard them. If naught happens after a time, they might return," Alaryn said. Not a likely outcome but there was no harm in offering some hope. "From this day forth, mayor Hutter, there can be no pursue of small game. No flesh save those from your own flocks. Sick animals are to be separated and watch. If there is any sign of rot, send word to my father immediately."

Hutter nodded. "What about the greens, the fish?"

At that, Alaryn paused. "They should be safe but keep a watch for anything unusual."

He nodded again. "I...I will tell the others." He turned away and then turned back. "What about the elf?"

"He will go with us to the border keep and help to find where the blight wolves come from."

His mouth worked as he tried to take in that bit of news, then he shrugged. "As you say, my lady."

He bowed and walked with heavy steps down the stonepath. The remaining villagers trailed silently behind him.

Returning to her room, Alaryn sat down to write the letter to her father. Reining in her desire to know what had happened, Friesa bustled about as she finished packing up and then went down to the kitchen to bring up lunch. Alaryn had just set the seal on the wax of the parchment with her ring when she heard the sound of hooves. Going to the window, she saw the patrol clattering into the village. Picking up the parchment, she went downstairs and out to the yard. The officer leading the patrol dismounted on seeing her.

"Corporal Redall, at your service, Lady Trevelyan." He saluted.

"Please give this letter to my father, corporal." She handed him the parchment. "I'll also need you to escort two prisoners to the main keep."

"Prisoners?"

"There are two men of this village who are likely blighted." Redall's eyes widened. "The letter will explain what had happened. The men cannot stay here. If, once they're turned, the villagers may not be able to defend themselves. My father will know how to confine them."

"I understand my lady."

"Once you leave the village, hobble the men. Do not venture too close, let them out of your sight or allow them free will."

"Yes, my lady." Redall looked around. "Where are these men?"

Catching sight of the soldiers coming through the south gates, Alaryn gestured. "They're just returning with sergeant Landric."

A perplexed frown on his brows, Redall said, "I'll have a word with him. We'll set off after we're victualed."

"Of course. Please tell sergeant Landric to come see me once they have supped."

Redall saluted and moved off. Alaryn returned to her room to find Friesa had brought up the lunch but she had little appetite. The sight and smell of the hide and bones remained with her still. She poked at the slices of mutton with a knife and gave up. Pushing away the plate, she crumbled bread into the soup.

Watching her with worried eyes, Friesa asked, "What happened?"

Alaryn told her. Friesa blanched white at the thought of the Holber brothers consuming blighted meat and blood and what would happen to them. Her colour came back a little when she heard what was to be done with the elf.

"Surely his word cannot be trusted!" she burst out. "What is to stop him from running away the moment he is hale?"

"Nothing." Fresa stared at Alaryn in confusion. "If he is as astute as I think he is, he will not run."

"Oh mark me, he will be very astute to land a knife in you once your back is turned," Friesa said fiercely. "This is foolishness. He is a knife-ear."

"Enough," Alaryn said in a tone that still Friesa. "I'll not bind him. Come," she added in response to the knock on the door.

Landric came in. He noted without surprise the untouched meal on the table.

"My lady, we burned the remains and buried the ashes deep beneath the ground a distance away from the spring. The men are rested and ready to resume the journey."

"The Holber brothers?"

"They are-," Landric's lips twisted, "-indisposed. We have put them in the cart we used to transport the wood and oil. They will reach Barviel Reach more quickly."

Alaryn stood up. "Then let us be on our way."

"My lady." He went out of the room.

Taking up the saddlebags, Alaryn went down and out to the stables. The stableboy had already saddled Liddy. After tying down the saddlebags, she led the gelding out. A small crowd of villagers were gathered around the patrol, the cart in their midst. From the words and quiet sobbing, they were seeing off the Holber brothers. Neither Kern or Paric was visible so she supposed they were lying down in the cart. She mounted and cantered towards them.

As she went nearer, the sounds of weeping became louder. The crowd was just standing around now, looking lost. She caught Redall's eye and nodded at the gates. He nodded and muttered softly to the soldier next to him, holding the reins of the cart horse. Nudging his horse forward gently, he cleared a path as the soldier followed. The crowd gave way reluctantly, with some encouragement from Hutter. They watched as the patrol turned on to the broad path leading out of the village. The soldiers heading for Skanvar marched behind. She waited for them to go by before approaching Hutter.

"Be vigilant, mayor Hutter," she said to him.

"I will, my lady," he said as he looked up at her out of red rimmed eyes. "Maker go with you."

"Maker watch over you."

She turned Liddy and followed as the end of the train went by. Once they were out of sight of the village and after a word with Landric, she headed up the direction of the road leading towards Barviel and caught up to the patrol easily. A look in the cart revealed the two men lying as still as statues, their skin glistening with sweat, their clothing wet and dirty with vomit. Their feet were tied. They also looked too white. Like corpses, she thought uncomfortably. The change from the hale hearty men of the morning was startling.

"Corporal," she said to Redall. "I don't know how long it would take for a blighted man to turn but it has been three days."

Redall looked uneasily back at the cart. "What do you suggest my lady?"

"Do not stop until you reach Barviel. If they make any threatening movement or behave strangely, use your judgment." He blinked nervously at that. "Do not bring them into the keep. Hold them at a distance while you inform my father."

"I understand my lady. We will be careful."

After one last look at the Holber brothers, Alaryn turned Liddy around and went back down the road. The gallop was invigorating and distracting. She wished she could take Liddy for a good run but all too soon, she caught up with the train. She settled the gelding into a amble beside Landric.

"A drastic change, isn't it, my lady?" he said conversationally. "Pink and rosy one moment, dead men in the next."

"Is it a common sight?" she asked curiously.

"Even the bravest and most skillful warrior becomes a dead man if he believes he has no hope. And the poor weakling thought to be carrion at the first stroke of battle may become the victor if he believes he has a chance."

"How relevant is it in this occasion?"

"Against the blight? All the more reason to not lose hope." His teeth gleamed. "With death creeping upon you with assurance, would you lie down to wait for its touch meekly or stand to fight with every last breath you have to withhold death from touching those you safeguard?"

"I have yet to taste first blood."

"It is a poor notion to taste the blood of the blight."

"I do not mean that," she protested, turning to catch his grin. He was jesting with her. She snorted.

"Everyone faces that moment, be they warriors or farmers. I cannot tell you how you would fare. It is for you to find out," he said kindly.

She sighed. Every veteran said that to her. Sometimes she had been tempted to sneak off during a hunt to test herself against a bear but that would rouse the ire of her father. Her father at the height of temper, which he rarely lost, was a frightening experience so she had never tried. On her occasional jaunts to the freeholders however, she had kept a look out for bears. Without success since bears avoid humans as much as the Dalish.

"Would the elf really help us?" Landric asked, changing the subject.

"I did not ask him but if he was hunting near the Vimmark Mountains, it follows that his clan is also nearby."

"Ah." Landric nodded. "His clan could have moved on without him."

"Not without looking for him. If they ran into blight wolves or darkspawn, they could be in trouble."

"I see. You help me, I help you. He is taking a risk and so are you, my lady. Neither Dalish nor humans ever trust the other."

"Against the Blight, neither has a choice."

"Their actions said differently in the second Blight," he reminded her.

"And they paid for it in blood and land. Would they risk complete destruction?"

He shrugged. "I have no inkling of their sentiments nor the reasons behind their destructive natures."

She tried not to lose her patience. As if sensing her temper, Landric fell silent and did not try to engage her in conversation as the day wore on. In the late afternoon, they were at the fringe of the woods. The faint grey facade of Skanvar Keep wavered in the distance. They would reach it by nightfall. They stopped for a break to water the horses and a bite to eat.

Alaryn went to check on Vararian, ensconced at the bottom of the supply cart Friesa was riding on. The maid had a sour look on her face but said nothing when Alaryn bent to look into the cart. The elf was sleeping. Not inclined to chat with the unhappy maid, Alaryn returned to her gelding. As she was about to mount, she became aware of an odd thrumming in the air that was getting heavier and louder. The ground beneath her boots trembled, as if many feet were beating upon it. She turned to survey the surroundings. It was coming from the eastern side of the woods.

All along the train, soldiers looked around, as confused as she. Landric went by, shouting to them to fall into battle lines. They formed a shield wall facing the eastern side of the woods but none drew their swords. Alaryn heard Landric calling to her to fall behind the lines but Liddy neighed and shied suddenly, almost tearing the reins from her hands. All the horses were equally disturbed. The drumming grew louder. To Alaryn's bewilderment, squeals and grunts filled the air. With shocking abruptness, a herd of deer rushed out at them from the thick undergrowth.

The shield wall held steady though the men ducked to avoid sharp hoofs as the deer scattered on seeing them, going every which way with several leaping right over their heads. Fennecs, wild pigs and ram darted past them. Barking and bleating their distress. The thrumming became heavier. It was as if the very air itself was breathing in bellows.

Alaryn grabbed hold of Liddy's reins before the gelding could take off. The tops of the trees swayed and bent as if a gale was upon them. The thrumming grew thunderous until it was almost deafening. Then, like a lightning bolt, a huge bulk shot passed over them. The horses tried to bolt but their handlers held on fast. Blasts of wind struck them as huge wings beat in the air. Dust and leaves swirled, twigs tumbled into the air. Friesa screamed, hunched down and covered her head with her arms.

A dragon!

Shock held Alaryn still for a moment before she leaped into the saddle. Liddy was more than willing to run. They galloped past the shield wall. Landric shouted but Alaryn was deaf to his call. She had to see the dragon. There were tales of them being sighted but never in the Free Marches. Now one had come. She had to see it. Landric ran after her. The shield wall broke as the soldiers followed, hearts thumping in fear at what might happened next.

They cleared the fringe of the woods and burst out into the open. Alaryn turned her head and her breath caught at the magnificent sight. The dragon glowed golden in the late afternoon sun. The wings seemed to shimmer. The dragon turned gracefully. Was it coming back? As it came nearer, Alaryn could see its horns were curved, its hide a scintillating amber. She urged Liddy to follow. Landric shouted in horror and warning as he ran towards Alaryn. Exposed with no cover, the dragon could easily snapped her up.

Instead of fear, Alaryn felt wonder. The dragon arced through the air. She felt as if she was one with it as the wind blew against her. It turned again and flew over her. A cry thundered from its throat. She watched as it flew towards the Vimmark Mountains. Sides heaving, the gelding stumbled to a halt, legs shaking. When the dragon could no longer be seen, Alaryn got down.

"Sorry, boy," she said apologetically, patting the gelding soothingly. "But that was something, wasn't it? I never thought I would see a dragon."

Taking up the reins, she walked to Landric who stood hunched over, bracing himself with his hands on his knees as he tried to catch his breath. He looked up as she came nearer. "That was foolish," he said severely.

"I know," she said contritely.

"It could have killed you -" he wiped sweat from his eyes, "-you were out in the open." He blinked. "But it didn't?" he muttered in bemusement.

"Perhaps it was already sated."

"It behaved very strangely." He looked towards the mountains contemplatively.

She frowned as she thought it over. "Perhaps it was curious since I did not run away."

"How then did it see you when it was a distance away and you were behind it?"

She shrugged. "It is gone. We should be on our way," she said, not inclined to discuss the matter further. No doubt her uncle and father would have much to say once they heard what had happened.

The soldiers who were watching fell back when they returned. Feeling their eyes on her, Alaryn tried not to flush red. If they thought her foolish, they were right. Yet, she would do no differently if she saw that dragon again. There was a mesmerising beauty to it that drew her. It could have been her imagination but she thought it knew she was there. That was why it had turned back. Why? To look at her? Or was it telling her something when it gave that cry before heading for the mountains? She shook herself. She was getting too fanciful.

Friesa gave her a relieved but incredulous look as she went by. The elf had not woken at all. In healing sleep no doubt. The soldiers fell back into their ranks and they moved on. With the gelding exhausted, Alaryn walked, holding his reins as he cooled down. As they headed down the road towards Skanvar, she couldn't help but looked towards Vimmark. There was nothing to be seen. Its face gave no hint of what was happening over there. Would the dragon nest there?

Dusk had fallen when they reached the curtain wall of Skanvar. The towers threw long shadows as they passed through the gatehouse. The soldiers turned towards the barracks in the outer bailey while Alaryn continued on to the second gatehouse and on to the keep. A heavily bearded man dressed in fine raiment, who looked vaguely familiar to her, stood waiting for her at the bottom of the stairs into the keep with two servants and a stableboy.

"Lady Trevelyan, Aulus Wilmar, seneschal of Skanvar. At your service." He bowed as she dismounted.

Handing the reins to the waiting stableboy, she unstrapped her personal saddlebag before turning to Wilmar. "Seneschal, where is my uncle?" She had expected him to welcome her to the keep.

"My lord Trevelyan is presently attending to a matter. He sends his regrets that he isn't here to receive you and looks forward to sup with you."

"I see. Please show me to my chamber, I would need to refresh myself. My maid will be along presently."

"This way, my lady."

She climbed the stairs after him, the two servants following with the rest of the saddlebags and her gear. The entryway was as she remembered it; four-sided with a dusty grey red carpet of no determinate design and two lanterns hung on either side of the walls. The open doors before her led to the great hall, now bustling with servants setting the tables for the evening meal.

They went through the door on the right and up a winding staircase. Alaryn remembered this too. It led to the second floor. She had skipped up this flight of stairs to her mother's chamber on their last visit. At the top of the stairs, Wilmar opened the first door at the landing and bowed her into the room. It was the same chamber but the hangings and coverlet were different. Fresh rushmats covered the stone floor. The rushlights were already lit, giving the room a warm glow. The servants placed their burdens carefully on the floor and went out at Wilmar's gesture.

"I'll have water brought up, my lady. Is there aught you need, you have only to say."

For a moment, she was tempted to ask about her uncle but decided she would see him soon enough to make a judgment. "Thank you, that is all."

Once the door closed behind him, she looked through each of the four windows around the room. Two looked into the inner bailey, the other two offered a view of the open fields which rolled down to the trade road between Ostwick and Kirkwall. Beyond the trade road was the coastline of the Free Marches. If she wanted a view of the Vimmark Mountains, she supposed she could ask for one of the guest rooms on the third floor. Looking around the room, she perceived the attention that went into the preparation for her use. To ask for another room would be putting extra labor on the servants. It was unwarranted.

She put aside her disappointment and began to rack away her armor and weapons. Friesa came in with a flushed face with the rest of the baggage. Right behind her, servants brought buckets of warm water which they emptied into a basin and the wooden tub in the wardrobe. With her displeasure on the elf seemingly forgotten, Friesa fussed about to unpack and lay out clean clothes as Alaryn washed away the dust and dirt. While glad that her maid was not going to pull a long face with her, Alaryn wondered at the change of humor.

The fanfare for dinner came as she finished dressing. A final look at the wardrobe mirror to see that nothing was out of place before she went downstairs. Wilmar was waiting for her at the bottom. He led her down a side corridor to avoid the crowd of soldiers and knights now filing into the great hall. They emerged at the other end of the great hall where the high table was set. She had arrived just in time for she saw a tall thin man coming through another door at the other side. They reached the table together.

"Alaryn?" Brown eyes swept over her in surprise.

She blinked at the unexpected deep voice, she didn't recall it being so deep but then he had spoken very softly and lightly to her when he did speak to her on her last visit. "Uncle Tarsus," she greeted with a little bow.

He smiled and offered her his hands. "You have grown so tall. Last I lay eyes on you, you barely reach my waist belt."

His hands felt cool and leathery in hers. He looked a little like her father except that his eyes were more deep set, the bones of his frame more angular and his beard trimmed close to his face.

"It has been eight winters, uncle. You would see me more if you had but come by more often."

She could have bitten off her tongue when his brown eyes seemed to cool. Perhaps it hadn't been wise to bring up his absence.

"Alas, Skanvar requires a firm hand," he said softly. "I trust all is well with my brother, your lord father?"

"He is, uncle."

He nodded and gestured for her to take her place. The men at the lower tables, a mixture of those who came with her and those from the keep, quietened when he raised his hand.

"Friends and brave warriors. In the days ahead, we will face uncertainties and difficulties. We can hope and pray the villainy gathering in far off lands does not spread here. If it does come upon these shores, the people and the land will need our resolve and our courage to ward off the blight. My lord Varal, my brother, has sent us his scion, Alaryn Trevelyan, to lend her strength and determination. To her, to you-," Tarsus took up the cup before him. Alaryn followed. The men all raised their cups. "Let us look to one another, let us not falter should what we fear come to pass. We will stand firm before the face of adversity. May the Maker look upon us kindly."

The men echoed the prayer and drank. At a nod from Tarsus, Wilmar signaled to the servitors who began to bring the food from the kitchen. Minstrels seated in a hidden alcove on the left began to play softly. Alone with her uncle at the high table, Alaryn couldn't think of a thing to say. He didn't seem inclined to talk either so she ate silently as she studied the great hall. It was slightly smaller than the great hall at Barviel. There was only a single great vaulted ceiling. The kitchen was on the right rather than the left, with a wooden painted screen hiding the entrance.

The walls were lit by rushlights instead of candles and lanterns. A mixture of wooden and metal shields were interspaced with old and dusty banners. Some of the symbols on the shields were foreign looking. She wondered where they came from. Given the history of the Free Marches, Tewinter? Or perhaps the barbarian hordes that came before?

Dinner came to a sedate close. As the herald sounded a fanfare to signal its end, Tarsus turned to Alaryn as they stood to leave. "You must be tired so I'll see you on the morrow. We'll discuss what duties you will take up."

"Yes uncle."


	5. Chapter 5

**Chapter V**

 **9.30 Dragon, Skanvar**

Alaryn didn't know what woke her. She thought she heard someone calling to her. The ceiling was disorienting when she opened her eyes. The criss-cross of the wooden beams was out of place. There was a faint astringent smell mingled with the familiar odour of hot fat. Underlying that was the scent of herbs from the coverlet. Pushing herself up with an elbow, she looked around the room and remembered where she was. Embers glowed dully in the hearth on the right. Beyond that, she could just make out the slumbering form of Friesa on her pallet. The closed door of the wardrobe stood in deep shadows on the left. There was no other in the room unless they were hiding in the wardrobe.

Perplexed, she got up and went to the hearth. Picking up a unused rushlight from the mantel, she lit it at the hearth and went to the wardrobe. Peering in, she saw no one except the empty wooden bathtub, buckets, chamberpots and a broom. Perhaps she had been dreaming. Just to make sure, she went in and looked into every corner before returning to the bedroom. Going to the windows, she could see the glow of the lanterns at the towers, the shadowy figures of sentries as they walked to and fro along the ramparts. The lanterns at the front door of the barracks were just two faint nimbus.

It was hard to tell what time it was but she thought she heard the timeskeeper struck the ninth hour before she woke up. Three more hours before dawn. Three hours and more before hearing what her uncle had decided what she was to do. From his speech to the men last night, it was possible she would take up active duties than book bound. She knew she should not read too much into it. The other matter of concern was Vararian. At present, he was resting in the sickroom next to the barracks. Should her uncle not uphold her decision and her plan, he would be locked up in the underground cells of the Keep before sent to her father.

The smell of the breeze blowing through the windows smelled a little odd. It had the tinge of the sea, she realised. With the old Keep was so close to the coast, it was to be expected. Drawing a deep breath, she sighed. She should get back to bed. Her body was aching from the hours of being on the saddle for the last two days. After another look through the windows, she climbed back into bed and fell into dreamless sleep.

When next she opened her eyes, it was to hear muffled whispers and shuffles of many steps from the door to the wardrobe. She sat up to see a servant walking out with an empty bucket. Soft light was shining through the windows. She could hear the faint crowing and cackling of fowls, the barking of the Keep dogs in their kennels, the tapping of a hammer and muted chatter from the inner bailey. The shuffling ended with the closing of the door. Flinging back the coverlet, she got out of bed.

"Your bath is ready, my lady," Friesa said when she caught sight of her through the door of the wardrobe.

She bathed quickly and pulled on a plain shirt, a dark grey tunic and trousers. She eyed the maid as she scooped out the bath water into the drainage trough along the wall, humming softly.

"You're in good spirits today," Alaryn said as she pulled on socks and boots as she sat on the bed.

Friesa looked up startled. "Oh, I saw my cousin last night. I wasn't expecting to see him here."

"Here, in the Keep?"

"He was recruited into the guard a month ago. I never expected to see him here. I thought my uncle wanted to apprentice him to the woodworker but my cousin persuaded him that he'd do better as a soldier." Friesa shrugged. "He does have a flare for fighting."

"Tasted many brawls has he?"

Friesa blinked. "Oh no, no," she denied quickly. "He's just very fond of wrestling with his siblings, friends. Friendly fights, is all."

Alaryn wondered how true that was as she fastened her sword belt. "What's his name?"

"Ludger Fowler. He's turning fifteen this summer. My Lady," Friesa added as Alaryn got up to go. "Would you...I do not mean to beg favors," she said in a rush, " but would you keep an eye for him?"

"Recruits do not venture forth till after their second year," Alaryn reminded her. Being eight years at Barviel, Friesa would know that her cousin would not fall foul of any duties outside the Keep. "I have no hand in their management."

"But you might have a hand in their training," Friesa said. "You did spend time with the recruits in your daily exercises," she added quickly when Alaryn frowned.

"I'll see what I can do if I see him."

Buckling on her sword, Alaryn went out to the landing. There was no one about. Downstairs, she looked quickly into the dining hall, the tables had not been set up yet so she went out the main door. From the faint glimmer in the dark sky, dawn was a few candlemarks away. There was time to find out where the elf had been brought. Captain Daenar in charge of the guards would have a good idea where he would be. She passed the inner gatehouse to the outer bailey and headed for the barracks. The training ground and practise rings were quiet. She passed several soldiers at the storage shed, bringing out the weapons racks.

"Where is captain Daenar?" she asked one of them.

"He's at the trainees' barracks," one of the soldiers said and pointed to the stonepath along the barracks. "Follow the path, turn left and a right."

She followed the instructions. From the sounds of bustling and voices from the barracks as she took to the path, the soldiers were making their usual preparations for the day. As she neared the corner, she smelled cooked food coming from the next building. It must be the kitchen and mess hall that served the soldiers. Presently, she came to a two storey building with a tower built flushed against the wall of the Keep. Unlike the guard towers, this was shorter but whoever stood at the top would have a clear view of the training ground and practise rings.

The stonepath went up to the door where two soldiers were standing guard, turned right before ending at a smaller building. Light flooded out from the open doors. She stopped at the doors and looked in to a familiar sight; a line of lads standing at attention before their pallets. Two soldiers stood with their backs to her just inside the doorway, another two men were talking to a boy at the far end of the aisle. Morning inspections. She decided to wait outside than to interrupt the proceedings. As she stood there, she noticed eyes rolling in her direction from the boys near the entrance. She stepped out of sight to prevent rousing any trouble for the boys.

Before long, she heard someone speaking near the door and the shuffle of footsteps. She turned her head to catch the startled dark eyes of a middle age man. His glance swept her from head to toe in a swift sweep, taking in the house crest on her tunic.

"My Lady Trevelyan," he said with a salute.

There was the captain's badge on the collar of his tunic but she asked nevertheless. "Captain Daenar?"

"At your service."

"If I could have a moment of your time, captain?"

"Of course, may I suggest my office?"

At her nod, he led her back down the path to the building with the tower. The soldiers braced to attention as they approached. Despite the windows, the ground floor was steeped in darkness, slightly alleviated by rushlights. Alaryn took in the weapons rack, the armor stand, the horse gear stack neatly on top of a chest. Presumbly they belonged to Daenar for the armor was more refined than the usual gear the soldiers wore. She followed the captain up the stairs to a more airy room with open windows and lit with candles. One side of the wall was lined with pigeon holes bristling with parchments. A round shoulder man behind a desk looked up when they appeared and stood up.

"This is Mair, my secretary," Daenar introduced. "This is Lady Trevelyan."

Mair bowed. "My Lady."

"Could you see if breakfast is ready?" Daenar said to Mair.

The secretary nodded, gathered up the papers on his desk with ink stained fingers and put them into a drawer. He pinched out the flame of the candle on the desk before leaving.

"What do you wish to discuss, my lady?" Daenar asked after Mair had left the building.

"I arrived with a injured elf yesterday. I would like to know how he has been handled."

"Lord Tarsius gave orders that he's to be kept under guard at the infirmary until it could be decided what should be done."

"I see. I would seek your opinion on a matter, captain," Alaryn said. She related what she had discovered at the village. "What are the probabilities of a darkspawn entry at Vimmark?"

"Very likely, even if there is no darkspawn massing in Ferelden. Though there has been no darkspawn raids in this region for many years, there have been tales of their appearance in other lands," Daenar said gravely. "However, I would not consider a single account for the sickness and the condition of the stag as cause to lay it at the feet of the darkspawn," he added.

Alaryn was surprised to hear that. "The word of the elf is doubtful?"

"Who or what the elf is, is in question, my lady. He has given only his name, not of his clan, their whereabouts or their intentions. His reason for tracking the stag may be righteous but there is only his word. Dalish clans do not follow human laws, they wander as they please. Their customs secret to us. They nurture their mages unfettered. Some of them will not tolerate us and attack on first sight. There is little we know of their ways except that there is no good tidings whenever we meet."

Seeing the furrow on her brows, he said gravely but insistently, "We can not know if there is more to the affair. If there is a grudge against the village or against someone living there. That stag could have been deliberately poisoned in such way as to bring ill and then led near to where it could be found easily. The cause of the sickness could be laid on the darkspawn. Two men could have been maliciously brought down."

Alaryn frowned. She didn't like the tone of skepticism and the air of criticism about him but what he said was reasonable. She should have realsised there was more than one way of looking at the matter. The possibility the elf could be lying had not occurred to her. She should have asked if anyone knew him. But would anyone admit to it? She didn't think it was likely.

"No one in the village recognises him," she said slowly, thinking over the words spoken at the village.

"If there was offense, the ill deed may not have done to him. It could be a family, a friend."

"If there had been an ill meeting, wouldn't the villagers be willing to speak of it?" she said aloud. "They or whoever it was, could make it more difficult for the elf to declare his innocence."

Daenar smiled slightly. "That is true. However, of more import is the recent news of the darkspawn and the sudden threat of a possible spread of the taint. Memory of such an encounter would have been forgotten," he said.

"Nevertheless, the possibility of a nearby darkspawn ingress have to be looked into, wouldn't you agree, captain?" she said.

"Indeed, my lady. I hear the elf is willing to reveal the place where the blight wolves have been encountered. Still, I would be cautious of his intentions," he warned.

It hovered on her tongue to insist that she could not be wrong but she held it back. Having experienced the result of thoughtless responses and unrestrained spite when she was younger, Alaryn had no desire to agitate a quarrel on the first meeting with the captain of the guards. Only time would prove whether the elf had been lying.

"I would like to take a look at the elf," she said instead.

"I will show you where he is," Daenar said.

It was brighter when they stepped out the door. When they went by the practise rings, the trainees were busy bringing out practise weapons and other paraphernalia; thick padded corselets, wooden practise weapons, shields and helms. Several were trudging up with buckets of water from the kitchen to empty into the water barrel standing behind the weapons racks. Curious eyes followed their progress until they turned the corner of the barracks. The infirmary was nestled between the barracks and the inner bailey wall. Two soldiers standing guard at the entrance saluted when they saw Daenar and opened the door.

Alaryn searched the rows of the empty pallets on either side of the room when she stepped in but could not see the elf. There was no one but she could hear voices coming from a door at the far side. It was to this door that Daenar led her to. Mender Riggs and the elf Vavarian looked up from where they were sitting, all kinds of herbs spread out on the table before them. Riggs stood up, Vavarian followed as Daenar and Alaryn entered the room. Vavarian's colour was better, Alaryn noted. The bruises on his face were a stark contrast to the tattoo. His eyes were clear and alert.

"My Lady, Captain," Riggs greeted. Vavarian inclined his head.

"I see you're on your feet," Alaryn said.

"Mender Riggs is skilled in his arts," Vavarian said softly. "I'm at your disposal, my lady."

"That remains to be seen," Daenar returned coolly before Alaryn could answer.

Meeting Daenar's hard suspicious gaze, Vavarian said nothing.

"Is he fit to travel, Riggs?" Alaryn asked.

"He'll have some stiffness but he is capable of travel, my lady," Riggs replied and gestured at the table. "He's helping me sort out the herbs we picked up along the way."

"Until further determination can be made, you will remain here with Riggs, Vavarian."

"Yes, my lady."

"We'll leave you to your task. Captain." Alaryn left the room.

Daenar frowned at Riggs, letting his eyes dropped to the herbs on the table and back up again to meet the mender's gaze before turning to follow Alaryn.

"Perhaps I should keep to my pallet," Vavarian suggested to Riggs.

"The captain has said nothing." Riggs sat down, reaching out for a bunch of embrium. "Until he does, you are not chained to the pallet."

"He does not disturb you," Vavarian observed as he sat down before the mushrooms he was sorting.

"He is not difficult but he has his ways, his beliefs, as everyone does," Riggs said non committedly. He bent to pick up a small rush basket. "Here, put the whitecaps in there. The cooks can have them."

From the shuttered look on Riggs's face, it was clear he was not inclined to talk further so Vavarian turned to his task. Unlike the other humans he had encountered, there had been no overtones of suspicion, hatred and fear in the exchanges with the mender. From the human's manner, it was clear he was invested in his healing skills than the racial origin of his patient. His words were always fixed with his work, not in babbling tales of his fellows or of his lord. Either he was earnest or he was prudent of his position. A surprising dispassionate human.

The same went for the noble youngling. That she disapproved of the harsh treatment and had been willing to consider his side was astonishing. He had heard tales of House Trevelyan, their feuds with Lord Kordin. Noble men often quarrel amongst themselves, that was not surprising. There were tales of their fair judgements too. He had not believed in them. However, the youngling's conduct may bore some truth to the tales. But she could be the exception in her family. It was too soon to judge.

Outside the infirmary, Alaryn thanked Daenar and took her leave though he looked as if he had more words to say. The day was getting brighter and she wanted to get back to the Keep. The Maker grant her uncle did not raise in the late hours for she dearly wanted to discuss her duties and the matter of the elf. There was also the letter her father had written. Being so tired yesterday, she had forgotten all about it till just now. Delivering the letter to her uncle would address her need to speak to him.

Guards were lined up in the training ground as she made her way back to the Keep. The trainees formed a smaller group beside them. None looked her way, their attention on the sergeants in front of them.

The seneschal, Wilmar, was standing outside the hall speaking to a servant when she entered the Keep. "My lady," he greeted.

"Is my uncle ready to receive visitors?" she asked. "I have a letter from my father," she added when he hesitated.

"I will check, my lady." He hurried off and climbed the stairs to the upper floor.

The servant bowed and left. She walked into the great hall. The smell of cooking food from the kitchen was strong, especially the aroma of baking bread. There was no one setting up tables. She guessed her uncle usually break fast alone which meant she was going to do the same thing too unless he summoned her to join him. As she went closer to the walls to examine the banners and shields, the faint smudges of white, blue speckled with red on the surface of the dark grey walls caught her eye. Peeling paint? She frowned and studied the specks carefully. It was clear that the walls were painted. A long time ago. Perhaps when it was first built. A pity the painting had faded. She was certain the picture would have a interesting message to convey, considering the times when the Keep was built.

She glanced around the hall. The rest of the walls were surely painted too, she was certain. It wouldn't have looked as dreary as it did now in the light coming through the high windows. The sound of footsteps coming down the stairs turned her away from the wall. She went back to the entryway to see Wilmar coming down the starwell.

"My lady, your uncle will see you," he said.

She followed him to the third floor. At the top, there was only the landing and two doors. The entire floor was the solar, she realised. He led her to the door on the right, knocked lightly before opening it.

"My lord, lady trevelyan," he murmured and stood aside to let Alaryn through.

She took in the room with a swift glance. A fireplace on the left with a small table and two chairs before it. A finger-bowl on a stand with towels stood next to the fireplace. Windows up high on the right. Light bouncing off whitewash wooden panels. A desk and chair below the windows. Book shelves and pigeon-holes beneath the windows. A door at the far end that should lead into the inner sanctum. A painting of a woman she did not recognise hung on the wall next to the door. A dark blue carpet covered most of the floor. A plain looking room.

"Alaryn," Tarsus said. He gestured to one of the chairs by the small table covered with covered dishes. Loaves of wheat bread stood on a platter. "Come, break fast with me."

"Good morn to you, uncle," she greeted as the seneschal bowed and closed the door behind her.

She dipped her hands into the finger-bowl on a stand by the fireplace to wash then dried them on a towel before taking one of the chairs.

After pouring some wine into a mazer, Tarsus said softly, "Est familia vi."

He drained half of it before handing it to her. She echoed the invocation before finishing the remaining wine. Although she would have liked to touch on the subjects she wished to discuss, they were not so urgent a cause to disrupt her uncle's meal so she reined in her impatience. She watched as he filled a small bowl with plain oatmeal and put it before her. A plate with a small loaf of bread, cheese and slices of ham and dried winter fruit was put next to it. A mug of tea instead of ale was poured, much to her surprise. She waited till he began to eat before starting on the food.

There was a faint sweetness to the oatmeal, she guessed honey was mixed in it. The wheat bread steamed when she cut it. The cheese was aromatic with a fruity taste to it. The ham was a bit too salty. She was glad she left the dried winter fruit for last, they removed the taste of salt.

"I trust you had a good rest," Tarsus murmured as he pinched something from a small covered pot and sprinkled it into his mug of tea.

"Yes uncle," she said as she reached for the letter in her belt pouch and handed it to him. "Father wrote you a letter."

She sipped her tea as he read it, watching him intently. There was no expression on his face, only the silent movement of his lips as he read the message. He folded it away after a while and reached for his mug.

"I understand there was an incident at Leundy and that you arrived with one of the parties involved. I would be pleased to hear of the matter from your view."

"I only came to know of the incident when the mayor asked what should be done with the elf accused of poaching. I found him imprisoned and ill-treated. I found no object of ill intent in his belongings. Though he spoke ill in his own tongue to the two men who claimed to have witnessed the deed, such a response was to be expected. I had the home of the witnesses searched."

"Why?" Tarsus asked, his gaze unfathomable.

"Everything the elf had was on him. Removed when he was captured and open to every eye, every judgment. I know not of the two men. If I were to decide on the elf's fate, in fairness, their holdings must be open to scrutiny."

"Was it only that?"

"No," she admitted. "I suspected they had removed the coin pouch from the elf. That was the item I expected to be found in their holdings, not the remnants of the kill. They admitted to butchering the stag but insisted that the elf had killed it. In speaking to the elf, I learned the stag had been attacked by blighted wolves at the Vimmark Mountains and that he had tracked it to prevent the spread of the taint."

"You believe his tale?"

"I..," she hesitated.

His gaze sharpened. "You're not sure?"

"I had word with captain Daenar earlier. Perhaps I'm too hasty in accepting just one vision of the incident but if the elf did not lie about the blight wolves, it must be looked into. What I saw of the carcass is disquieting."

"How was it disquieting?"

"The stag was killed but three days. The meat smelled bad, the hide and the bones were black and putrid. As if they had been in the earth for long. I've never seen anything like it." A involuntary shudder passed through Alaryn when the smell came back to her. "It cannot be allowed to spread."

When Tarsus said nothing, she continued anxiously, "The egress from which whence the taint comes from must be closed. Uncle, I'd like to search for it."

"I understand you have been trained by Krizo and attained third weapons and riding proficiency. The path of the knights and swordmastery is yours to take."

Taken aback by the change in subject, Alaryn blinked. "Yes but I've no..."

"You'll train with the guards and work jointly with the sergeants on the trainees. You'll also be undertaking lessons from captain Daenar. Confer with him on a schedule. You'll also acquaint yourself with the Keep and its management."

Befuddled, she stared at him.

"You have a differing opinion?" he asked when she remained silent.

"Isn't the darkspawn egress of more import?" she burst out.

"That has to be decided."

She struggled to keep her tone even. "That was not the essence of the declamation last night."

"I have detailed you the duties you will attend to," he said, steel in his voice. "See to them."

He stood up. Clearly, the discussion was over. She got up to leave, bemused and upset. He stopped her at the door.

"Thy father sent you with purpose. Do not forget that."

She bowed stiffly and went out. At a lost, she went back to her room. Friesa was not there, presumably she was down in the kitchen breaking her fast with the rest of the servants. Flinging open the window by the bed, she braced her arms on the window sill and stared at the open fields beyond the ramparts. The conversation with her uncle played again in her head. The path of the knights and swordmastery was open to her. Was he telling her she should take it? By giving her those duties, was he dictating where she should go? What she should be doing? The decision was hers, not his. Her father had told her as much. He wouldn't have told her uncle any different in the letter.

Her path was not the most important matter at the moment. The question of a dangerous darkspawn intrusion needed to be looked into at once. Why would her uncle balk on searching out the darkspawn egress? If he didn't believe the elf, he should believe and trust in her judgement. If he thought her decisions or perception was wrong, he should believe Landric. The sergeant saw and heard the same things as she. Would his account be any different?

The door open behind her. "How goes this morning, my lady?" Friesa asked cheerfully, shutting the door behind her.

A bolt of resentment struck Alayrn at the pleased satisfaction in the maid's voice. Just another day for her and all was well. She forced it down.

"My lady?" Friesa asked in puzzlement when Alaryn didn't answer.

"Fine," Alaryn said shortly.

About to pick up a shirt for darning, Friesa stopped short at the abrupt reply. The way Alaryn was standing at the window told her something was wrong. Before she could ask what it was, someone knocked on the door. She opened it to find seneschal Wilmar outside.

"I'm here to show her lady the Keep," he said.

Before she could say anything, Alaryn swept past her.

"I would appreciate it, seneschal," said Alaryn.

"Where would my lady like to start?" asked Wilmar.

"From the top. Continue with your task, Friesa," Alaryn added as Friesa made to follow them as Wilmar headed for the stairs.

Friesa stared after them, puzzled by her mistress's bad mood, before closing the door. Whatever it was, perhaps she would speak of it later.

Wilmar led Alaryn to the topmost floor, the fourth floor. The defensive battlement. A couple of soldiers were manning the lookouts. Another two were walking the ramparts. He showed her the small wooden sheds where large cooking pots, pots of oil, kindling, spears, stones, stacks of arrows, bow and shields were kept in readiness. The soldiers reached the battlement through the staircase of the northwest tower, he explained. The southwest tower stairwell and entrance were reserved for the family. She stared at the view around her. The Vimmark Mountains to the west loomed large in her eyes, seeming to beckon.

"My lady?"

She started and realised Wilmar was speaking to her. "I'm sorry, what is it?"

"If there are no questions, shall we proceed?"

She gestured to him to continue and followed him down to the third floor.

"This entire floor is the solar. As my lord Tarsus has no lady, the lady's bower is closed." Wilmar pointed to the door on the left of the landing before going to the second floor. "There're four guest quarters on this floor."

"Is this the only stairwell that serves the the family and guests?" she asked as she looked in briefly into each chamber. Bare of floor carpets and rushes, dusty covelets covered the beds, closed shutters with faint wisps of cobwebs. None had been used for quite some time.

"Yes, my lady. The adjoining stairwell of the towers cannot reach any of the chambers within the Keep."

"Have there been many visitors?" she asked as they went down to the ground floor.

"Very few. This way, my lady," he said and entered the great hall before she could ask further.

Behind the large wall panel at the back of the dining dais was a locked door. Picking out a key from a ring of keys hooked on his belt, Wilmar opened it. A flight of stairs slanted sharply down, turning left at a small landing. There was a chill in the air. Alaryn deduced they were headed for the storage room and cellar. The smell of a faint mustiness of wood and the sight of a large number of casks and bottles in the large lantern lit vaulted room proved her right.

"The cellar, my lady. The ale and wine for lord Tarsus's table. Some of the wine have been here long before my lord Tarsus took up residence."

"How long?"

"It is said from since the Keep was built." He went over to a rack in the farthest corner and carefully pulled out a dark bottle with a red string around the neck. "This is Sun Blond Vint. The very first Tewinter wine to be bottled at the Free Marches."

"The very first wine?" she said in disbelief. She didn't attempt to reach for it. If it was as old as he said it was, it was priceless.

"Yes my lady. When the Tewinter generals were defeated, whatever possessions they had were distributed. One lot of wine was claimed by Skanvar."

"Is this the only bottle?"

"There're two bottles."

He returned the bottle to the rack. It was then she noticed there was another bottle with a red string.

"We brew the ales ourselves. Most of the wine come from the cities or gifted by passing traders. Some of them purported to come from unknown lands far to the north and across the seas."

That caught her attention. "What do the traders say of those lands?" she asked curiously.

"Not very much I'm afraid. They're not wandering traders to venture into strange lands hence there is little they could tell."

Somewhat disappointed, she took another glance around the cellar. One of the lanterns by the ale casks flickered as if there's a breeze passing by. She stared at it, puzzled. There were no windows in the cellar, where would the breeze be coming from? It flickered again.

"My lady?"

"Where is the air passage to the cellar?"

"It is over by the wine racks," Wilmar pointed to the walls.

He watched her in perplexity as she headed for one of the lanterns hung by a row of ale casks. She reached out but felt nothing. The candle in the lantern burned steadily. She looked at the floor before going behind the casks to examine the walls. Nothing. Was it a trick of the light and shadows? She stood still for a moment but felt no breeze. Staring hard at the lantern again, she decided it was her eyes playing tricks on her.

"It's nothing," she said to Wilmar's puzzled gaze when she walked back to him. "There is something else in the cellar you have not shown me."

He stared at her silently before nodding. "There is, my lady."


End file.
